


A Grenade and a Near Miss

by Biobabe007



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biobabe007/pseuds/Biobabe007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our boys at Baker street have been circling each other for a long time now but when an incident at a crime scene changes how they see each other there are new hurtles to clear as they figure out each other as well as themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grenade and a Near Miss

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Sherlock in any of its iterations, I’m just borrowing other people’s toys. All hail Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Moffat/Gatiss. 
> 
> There is M/M smut here and if you don’t like it *points* there is the door. Don’t let it hit you in the way out. I hope you enjoy and review if you feel moved to do so.

Sherlock is pacing back and forth across his room quickly, drumming his finger tips against his chin, mind racing over the events of the day and reeling over the implication. He is too disciplined to come to any quick conclusion before collecting enough data. However, feelings weren’t really considered data were they? And He was Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t have feelings! Or so he thought. The sound of John clicking away at his blog in the living room floated up the stars and Sherlock faintly registered them in the back of his mind. He began to feel flush at just the thought of the army doctor being so close to him and yet so far away and oblivious. 

*******

Earlier…

Sherlock’s phone bings with the sound of a text while he is in his chair and John is making tea. 

Have a case for you. Come quickly. GL 

“We have a case.” Sherlock states and hops up to grab the hot mug from John. He swallows his tea in two gulps as John grabs his coat and tosses Sherlock his scarf. They head down the stars and out of the flat to hail a cab. The ride over is as usual; John has his hands in his coat pockets and Sherlock is sitting cross legged and holding his hands together on his knee. Neither man spoke, not for any particular reason, just because there wasn’t anything to say at the moment. 

When they arrive Lestrade is there with Anderson and Donovan and all the other Yardies and as usual the case seems immediately obvious to Sherlock but eludes everyone else. 

“Hoy! Took you both long enough to get here.” Lestrade called as he sees them walk up. There is a body lying in the middle of a back alley between two tall residential buildings. 

“You probably interrupted a great shag.” Anderson called from a few feet away sneering and clearly taking joy in any opportunity to try and ruffle the detective. Sherlock simply ignored him but John, as always turned a little red in the ears and tried to valiantly defend his heterosexuality. It never worked and Anderson was always more convinced than ever that if they hadn’t already they would be shagging soon. 

John bent down to investigate the body that lay face down at his feet. “What do you see John?” Sherlock always asks to see if his presence has improved Johns deductive skills any. 

“Well,” John replied, “victim is male, approximately 68 to 70kg, badly beaten, very pale and, missing an arm. “ Knowing he had stated the obvious John stood looking around for it; but since it wasn’t in immediate sight asked Lestrade if they had found it yet. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak but another officer called him over stating they had found the other arm. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at John and walked off to the calling officer. John bent back down over the body and began to inspect the shoulder where the arm had been apparently ripped off due to the lack of a clean cut. John noticed a shiny object in the wound and called Sherlock down to see; Sherlock had remained next to him standing and deducing the crime scene wholly. Sherlock bent down at John’s request to inspect the object John had found. Sherlock had already donned gloves and had a pair of forceps in his hand and began to prod at the wound to try to pull the shiny metal object out of the man’s shoulder. As Sherlock removed a slender metal pin by a loop from the body and began to examine it John realized he recognized the object and his heart sank. From years in Afghanistan and pulling all sorts of shrapnel from wounded men, John knew exactly what that was…it was a grenade pin, American if he remembered right. Time seemed to slow and he felt like he was moving through syrup. Sherlock looked at him and his expression fell. John must have blanched, Sherlock was saying something to him but he couldn’t hear it. John was faintly aware that he was yelling something, probably either RUN or BOMB but he wasn’t sure about that either. John grabbed Sherlock by the front of his coat in his fists, stood, and practically threw Sherlock back from the body and landed on top of him just as there was a small explosion. The grenade had detonated and splattered body parts all over the alley. The immediate danger is over and John sighs and sets his head down on Sherlock’s shoulder knowing his friend is ok. After a moment he and Sherlock are coming to the realization of their current position. Sherlock is sprawled on his back limbs akimbo with John stretched out fully on top of him and their faces are scant centimeters from each other. John’s eyes go wide as he scrambles off his best mate and he stands leaving Sherlock a little wide eyed still on the ground. 

“You alright?” John asked as he offered his friend a hand. Sherlock grabbed John by the wrist for extra leverage and hoisted himself back to his feet. 

“Yes yes, I’m alright.” Sherlock stands and both men take a moment to survey the damage. The upper body is completely destroyed, leaving the legs, and most of the evidence gone with it. Most of the officers are alright and had managed to escape the spattering of blood and guts. Lestrade was lying on his back and wasn’t moving. John and Sherlock noticed at the same moment and went rushing over just as Donovan reached the fallen DI. John knelt next to him and did a quick examination: out cold with possible concussion but still breathing. “Call an ambulance” John barked at Donovan and she immediately popped open her mobile. Although she felt sorry for the doctor putting up with the Loon and all she still respected his medical training enough that if he said call she did without question. Sherlock had gone back to examining the rest of the body knowing Lestrade was in good hands with the doctor. Hands he had been kept safe in just a moment ago. Sherlock found himself thinking more about John on top of him and the warmth and concern he had felt radiating off John then the body at his feet. He was only shaken from his reverie by the sound of the sirens coming to pick up Lestrade. 

“Sherlock,” John called, “I’m going to go to hospital with Lestrade. Are you alright here?” 

“Yes, go. I’m almost done here.”

“At home later then?”

“Yes Yes.” Sherlock waived him away and was thankful John was out of eye sight for the time being. While Sherlock was glad that John had shown so much concern for him he wasn’t sure what he was experiencing now in the aftermath of such….affection?

Anderson waltzed over to look over the remains of the remains. “Well shit. How are we going to ID him now?” Anderson wasn’t really asking Sherlock but merely speaking aloud and Sherlock really wished he didn’t feel the need to do such inane things. “You could always try the fingerprints on the remaining, ripped off arm. Really Anderson, if the killer didn’t want to be found at all he would have removed the head and hands completely. Instead he decides to try and injure as many of us as possible with the explosive but still leave us an ally of investigation with the removed arm.” Sherlock pauses looking down at the body and then back at Anderson. “How is it you manage to survive with such an empty space between your ears?” Anderson snorted in resent and called for some other officers to bag the lower half that remained and to collect as many tissue and bone fragments that had been scattered. Sherlock made a mental note to contact Molly at St. Bart’s to leave the body for him to inspect. He was done with the crime scene and walked back out to the main road to hail a cab home. 

A couple hours later Sherlock can hear the outer door open and close and then John shuffling up the stairs. “Sherlock” he calls. No answer. Sherlock is still in his room thinking. John hangs his coat on the hook and sets to making tea. After a few moments John can hear Sherlock pacing in his room above him and knows he is home. ‘Well at least I can forego the text I was about to send.’ John thinks to himself and settles into his desk chair and begins to blog. 

An hour and a half has passed by and John is finishing his blogging for the day and noticed the sun has set and Sherlock still hasn’t come down. There is a faint gnawing at John’s stomach and he rises and heads to the fridge. There is the usual, two or three body parts, two or three experiments, and a jar of jam but no real dinner options. John weighs the take away options and decides that he should probably ask if Sherlock wants anything. John climbs the stairs and gives Sherlock’s door a soft knock. “Sherlock? You hungry? I’m getting Chinese take away?” John in standing rather close to the door to hear Sherlock if he speaks. Instead the door is flung open and Sherlock, not expecting John to be so close, nearly bowls him over. 

“Chinese take away sounds perfect.” Sherlock, righting himself to avoid landing on top of his flat mate, has changed into his robe, a white t-shirt, and his pajama bottoms. Sherlock moves to head down stairs and John shrugs and moves to his room to change as well. He feels a bit overdressed even though he is in jeans and a jumper. After a few minutes, John moves back down stairs in his own pajama bottoms and t-shirt and places the order for dinner. He plops on the couch, turns on crap tele, and just relaxes. Within the span of the game show John is watching the take away arrives and John coaxes Sherlock away from his experiment with noodles and Sherlock sits next to John and complains about the stupid people on the TV. “Really, how is this not obvious to these people?!” Sherlock almost shouts at the tele. John just snorts in amusement.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, Lestrade will be fine. Just a sound knock on the head but he’ll be on his feet in a day or two. You were up in your room when I got home and I didn’t realize how long I had been home before I came to get you.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” Sherlock was finding himself looking at John and marveling at his features in the dim light of the room and the flickering tele. He quickly looked away and polished off his noodles. He remained next to John even after he had finished eating. He found that he really had no compunction to move away from his friend. 

“Good work today by the way.” 

“I’m sorry?” John glanced over at Sherlock a little confused. He had almost forgotten about the incident earlier. 

“The explosive…and thank you.”

John blinked in rapid succession. He had received a thank you and a good job. Good Job. Sherlock didn’t congratulate any one for their accomplishments. “Thanks…and you’re welcome.” Sherlock sighed and realized he was about to admit something he may never have admitted to anyone else EVER! Sherlock had not immediately known the pin was for an explosive and if John hadn’t been there he could have been seriously hurt. 

“How did you know?” Sherlock now looking squarely at John. 

“Hmmm?” 

“How did you know?” Sherlock asked again. 

“ Know what?”

“About the explosive? How did you know?” Sherlock is getting a little aggravated at having to repeat his lack of knowledge several times.

“Oh. Well there was this particular patient in Afghanistan who was the victim of an IED while on convoy. There was a small village near where he was stationed and on their way back there were several bodies splayed along the road side. Some of them were people from the village that these soldiers had been working with and they were afraid they the village had been attacked. The convoy stopped to look for injured and survivors and while checking one of the victims he noticed a metal object sticking out of a wound but the man was still alive. He thought it was shrapnel so he decided to pull it and field dress the wound. Instead there was a grenade lodged in the man’s abdomen and soon after he pulled the pin *BOOM*. He was injured very badly and he was still holding the pin when he came to me. I have never forgotten how ill I felt.” John looked stricken and pale as he tells the story. He can’t imagine if something had happened to Sherlock today if John had not been there or hadn’t had this unique experience from his tour. He shuddered to even fancy the idea. 

Sherlock is pinned to Johns face and doesn’t look away the whole time that John is retelling this particular memory. He sees John shiver and assumes it is due to the image of that soldier and he can tell, based on the slightly haunted look he had, that the memory pains him. Sherlock has the sudden urge to reach out and touch his flat mate and provide…what? Comfort? John looks back at Sherlock and finds Sherlock with what could be described as a pointed yet vacant stare right at John. Not past him, or through him like Sherlock does when he is thinking, but at John.

“Sherlock?” 

“…”

“Sherlock?” John calls louder. “Are you ok?”

“Hmmm….Oh yes. “ Sherlock goes wide eyed. He’s been caught staring at John. He pops up from the couch and heads over to his experiments and resumes going over the results of his current batch. “Uhhgg, these are no good.” Sherlock summarily dumps the current set of Petri dishes in the bin. John has gone back to crap tele and Sherlock watches him. ‘Has he noticed? Surely not or he would have confronted me about it.’ John is a lot of things, but he simply does not observe the way Sherlock does. ‘Although he is getting better.’ Sherlock thinks and smiles before going back to his microscope. 

*******

The next few days pass as normal for the most part. Sherlock continues to play the violin at unsociable hours of the night, not eating, not sleeping, as he works the case. Although it had originally looked rather benign Sherlock had a new perspective after the grenade. Despite all of the mental acuity that Sherlock possesses, he can’t seem to delete the warm niggling he has in his stomach every time he watches John puttering around the flat. John must be getting better at deducing because it seems that every time Sherlock watches John for any amount of time John turns to look at him and Sherlock has to avert his eyes to keep from being caught. 

‘The Work Sherlock, The Work. He is going to figure you out soon if you don’t get this under control! You know he has no interest in you accept as a flat mate and friend.’

“Well, I’m off to the clinic.” 

“Hmmm?” Sherlock has been staring again and has been so busy berating himself he hasn’t noticed that John has moved toward the door with his coat on. 

“I’m off to the clinic. I’ll be back later tonight. Are you ok Sherlock? You seem really distracted lately. This case isn’t getting to you is it?” John has noticed that Sherlock is acting rather odd even for him. He is constantly gazing off into space and even when he is thinking on a case he is usually pretty connected to reality enough to hear when someone speaks to him. 

“Oh, right. Later then.” Sherlock has narrowly escaped being caught again. ‘Really! Get it together!’

John shrugs as he heads out the door and off to the clinic. Some days the normalcy of the clinic was a relief to Sherlock and his pacing and zoning out. Usually he took a bus to work but today John didn’t really want to hassle with the throng of people one usually encountered. He hailed a cab from the curb and in the two minutes it took to hail a cab, get in and give the address John was lost in his own thoughts. He closed his eyes and could almost feel the scratchy wool of Sherlock’s coat on the palms of his hands, the firm plane of his chest. He had acted out of instinct hadn’t he? If it had been Lestrade or any other officer he would have done the same right? Maybe not for Anderson. If that was the case then why was it so shocking to him to be so close to Sherlock; his flat mate? His best mate when he really thought about it. He could see the piercing blue/silver that were his eyes and the pale color of his skin. How his dark hair always seemed to fall in his face. The memory of that morning finding himself on top of Sherlock still startled him. But there was something else. It made his pulse pick up and his breathing hitched, his fingers and toes would go a little numb. 

“Hoy! Mister! You getting out or are we just gonna sit here?” 

John started, looking around to find that they had arrived at the clinic already and John was a little disappointed to be torn away from his thoughts. “Sorry.” He muttered while handing the cabbie a few bills and sliding out of the cab. 

“Morning Sarah,” John called when getting inside. 

“Morning John! Your first appointments are already here and I’m pulling charts for them.” Sarah called from behind the desk. 

For John the day seemed to pass in a blur, a cold, the flu, a minor broken bone. John couldn’t even remember the rest of the cases. And to make matters worse, his thoughts kept straying back to the man in his flat. John could see him ruining the kitchen, and some of the pans along with it, or sitting on the couch in his silk robe or maybe just a sheet with his hands pressed palms together almost as if in prayer to the Gods of deduction. His quicksilver eyes would have become a little stormy with thought and would be darting back and forth looking over the evidence in his mind’s eye. John’s mouth went a little dry and his hands became clammy at the mental image and he leaned back in his chair a little, lips parted as his breathing came a little quicker. John wanted nothing more in that moment but to reach out and run his hands through Sherlock’s long curls and pull his head back to expose his full throat; to run his tongue along that expanse of pale skin and to breathe in Sherlock. John’s fingers twitched at the thought and it did nothing for the cotton mouth that he now had. There was a tightening in his chest and he wasn’t totally unaware of the same tight feeling in his trousers. ‘John’, he could hear Sherlock breathy in his ear; ‘John’ now more urgent. 

“John!” Sarah was nearly yelling at John. She thought he had fallen asleep at his desk again. At least this time he was done with his patient load for the day and was just filling in charts. “John!” John was so startled to be ripped from his day dream that he jerked and spilled his chair with him in it. 

“Wha…WHOA!!!” With an unceremonious thud John found himself on his back feet in the air behind his desk. 

“Oh God John!” Sarah came running over to him to help him up. “Are you alright, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.” Sarah pulls him up off the floor and John turns to right his chair. 

“It’s ok Sarah, I’m fine really. Are you off home then?” John can feel the red in his face growing and it’s more for his stiff erection then being thrown out of his chair. ‘God please don’t look down.’ 

“Yeah, I’m off. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes really, I’m good.” 

“Alright. Well don’t forget to finish those charts.” Sarah smiled at him and headed for the door. “Goodnight John.” 

“Goodnight Sarah” John flopped back into his chair. Had that really just happened? “You just had a day dream about Sherlock!” John sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. He quickly finished his notes in the remaining charts on his desk and gathered his things. All he wanted now was to get home. 

Sherlock could hear the outer door open and John’s familiar shuffle up the stairs. He was sitting on the couch wrapped in a sheet with his palms pressed together and resting under his chin and deep in thought when John walked in to the living room; he didn’t move to face him as he came in. John closed the door behind him, dropped his bag on the floor and hung his coat on the peg and picked up his empty tea mug that he had left on the small table as he dropped his keys and wallet in exchange. 

“Anything new on the case Sher…” As John turned to face his flat mate to find him exactly as John had imagined not an hour ago, it was all John could do to maintain what was now frail composure. Sherlock’s hair was tosseled meaning that he had run his hands through it several times but his hands had stilled under his chin. John could see the pale skin on Sherlock’s chest rise and fall with his steady breathing. The tight sensation in his pants immediately returned and John just knew his mouth hung open a little bit. 

“Do something!!!” His brain screamed at him. ‘But what?’ One part of him urged him to do exactly what he had thought about earlier and the other part told him to run.   
Sherlock had finally noticed that John hadn’t moved further into the apartment. Rousing himself from his reverie he turned to John and found him standing in the middle of the room, mouth open slightly and eyes wide, pupils dilated. 

John’s brain had completely shorted now and even though he could see Sherlock looking at him he could do nothing to hide from his deductive eyes. 

“Tea!” John suddenly yelled. “Tea, I’m going to make some tea. Do you want a cuppa?” John suddenly found his feet again and moved into the kitchen to put the pot on the stove.

“Yes, thank you John.” Sherlock returned to his pose in the couch and sank back into thought. After a few minutes the kettle began to whistle. Pouring the two cups and adding the tea bags and sugar John resolutely tried to not look at Sherlock. Sherlock however had begun to watch John as he made their tea. Having had John out for the large part of the day had been both a respite and somewhat troublesome. Sherlock had been able to concentrate on the case and felt that he was close. 

‘Focus on the Work’ This had become Sherlock’s personal mantra for the last couple days but even with John gone he found himself thinking about that morning at the crime scene. John’s lips were parted and his deep brown eyes held Sherlock for what seemed like ages but could only have been a few seconds. Sherlock had wanted to just hold him there feeling his warmth seep into him. 

“Here.” John had wandered back into the living room with two cups and was holding one out. Sherlock reached out and took it from John feeling the hot porcelain in his hands. John sat in his chair and picked up his laptop to try and blog some more but gave up with a heavy sigh after staring at his computer screen for about an hour. John looked over at Sherlock who had not moved since taking his cup from John although he had managed to drink his tea this time rather than let it get cold. 

“Have you made any progress on the case?” John asked. 

“No.” Sherlock’s baritone voice was a little raspy. “I need another one to know more. I just don’t have enough right now.” 

John hated it when Sherlock almost wished there was another body. He knew full well that Sherlock didn’t mean malice by it and he didn’t want another innocent person to lose their life but Sherlock always needed more data. Sherlock had begun to watch John again and could see John’s face fall a little when he said he needed another body. The look stung Sherlock a little. ‘How could he possibly want to be with someone who wants people to die?’ 

It had gotten late and though John had the next day off he was more tired than he imagined he would be. “Right. Well I’m off to bed.” John stood and held his hand out for Sherlock’s cup and when it had been handed over he placed them in the sink. “Good night Sherlock. Do try to get a couple hours sleep.”   
Sherlock hummed in assent.

“Goodnight John.” He called just as John was about to head up the stairs. 

John reached his room and began to strip his clothes off and toss them into the hamper. Left in nothing but his boxers his crawled into bed and settled in between the cool sheets and tried to settle his mind to sleep. ‘You should have done it while you had the chance.’ His brain was teasing him now. ‘SHUT IT…and go to sleep.’ 

*******

John awoke the next morning feeling stiff as if he had slept the whole night with all of his muscles tensed. He could tell that he was awake earlier then he really wanted to be. The light that filtered in through the slits in the curtains indicated it was early morning but well after dawn; his clock confirmed quarter to seven. He groaned and rolled onto his back bringing his pillow over his face with him. He would give anything to go back to sleep, but his shoulder was now starting to throb and John knew there would be no more sleep this morning. Swinging his legs off the edge of the bed John padded over to his bathroom and started the shower and brushed his teeth while he waited for the water to warm. In a minute the small room started to steam and John grabbed his towel off the hook, slung it over the shower door and stepped in. He gave a sharp hiss as the hot water cascaded through his hair, down his chest and back. He stood for a moment letting the heat ease the injury that had sent him home away from the sun and sand of the desert and he let his right hand reach up and massage his left shoulder a little to loosen it. He let his finger tips roam over his bare chest ghosting small patterns as he let his mind wander. It wasn’t long before he found himself in the same place as yesterday and he could feel his morning wood stiffen at the thought. John stopped himself for a brief minute. ‘You’re at home in the shower; what’s the harm in a little exploration.’ He sighed to himself and resigned letting his hands move over his skin. John could see Sherlock in his mind’s eye and he reached out to touch his alabaster skin working his fingers around to the back of his neck to twirl his fingers in the taller mans dark hair pulling him in closer and placing a chase kiss on the corner of his mouth. The Sherlock in John’s mind responded in kind letting his long spindly fingers run over Johns back and down to his arse. John moved to place another kiss on Sherlock’s lips properly now and the younger man kissed back hungrily wanting to explore every inch of the inside of John’s mouth and John was more than willing to let him. John pulled at his hair a little and Sherlock let his head loll away from John’s hot and inviting mouth and John began to explore the long neck of this gorgeous man, alternating between light kisses and nips down to his collar bones. Sherlock had wrapped one of his legs around John’s hip and John uses one of his hands to hold the leg up and grind upwards with is hips eliciting a low moan from deep in Sherlock’s chest and it made John’s hips twitch up harder pushing his arousal into Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock grabs John’s face and kisses him harshly and his desire is evident in his frenzy. John’s erection became so hard it was almost painful in the best way possible. ‘God Sherlock….oh God!’ John could feel the other mans hips rise and fall with his own as Sherlock’s hard cock slid between them and he dug his fingernails into John’s tan back. ‘John…my John.’ John could hear the small moans and whimpers of lust that came from Sherlock’s throat and John broke their kiss. Sherlock staring right into him with pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates that begged John not to stop. John rutted hard again and Sherlock hissed and whined twisting his eyes shut and letting his head fall back with ecstasy. Sherlock then moved forward and began to kiss along John’s good shoulder and pulling at his sandy blond hair to expose as much of the older man as he could get to, his other hand lightly twisting one of John’s hard nipples. John lets out a guttural moan and the tight coil in his stomach clinches. ‘Yes Sherlock…God don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’ John is almost begging and trusting against Sherlock harder; holding the slender hips to ground himself if even a little. Sherlock wraps his long arms around John and pulls him in tight and kisses the soft spot just behind John’s ears forcing all the air out of John’s lungs along with a moan that sounds alien in his ears. He doesn’t think he has ever felt this much desire when he was with any woman and now he is fantasizing about his male flat mate. ‘John, I’m so close…’ Sherlock whispers in his ear. John begins to move faster and faster using one hand to hold up Sherlock’s leg on his hip and the other to stabilize himself against the wall. ‘John…John please…ahhh.’ The younger man is becoming reduced to incoherent sentences and soon his whole face squeezes and he lets out a sharp yell as he releases all over John’s stomach. John is right behind, his back arching and head lolling back, “Sherlock…Oh God fuck….God Sherlock.’ “SHERLOCK!!” John is snapped from his imagination to find himself alone in the shower with an almost vise grip on his penis and semen all over his hand. His knees suddenly go weak and he has to brace himself against the shower wall as the endorphins explode through his body and the adrenaline begins to fade. There is also the realization that upon cumming he did in fact yell Sherlock’s name and the reverberations still resounded in the air of the small bathroom. As soon as his knees would allow he stood up straight and gave himself a final rinse off and turned off the shower. He felt sated in a wholly new way than ever before and even though it was in an unexpected avenue he was strangely comfortable with it. He toweled off and wrapped his towel around his waist and wandered into his bedroom for clean clothes. As he stood with his back to the bedroom door rummaging for clean boxers and socks he became faintly aware of another presence in the room. He whirled around and found Sherlock leaning against the door jamb of his room. He let out an involuntary squeak at the prospect that Sherlock had heard any of what he had been doing in the shower. 

“Sherlock!” 

“You’re awfully pink John.” That’s it, he knows. Panic rising up John’s spine. “Did you leave enough hot water for the rest of us?”

John blinks and nearly collapses into the floor. ‘He doesn’t know.’ “Yes, there is plenty of hot water left.”

“Good…I really need a shower.” Sherlock runs his hands through his hair and makes a face as he turns to head to his own bathroom. ‘Oh,” he stops and turns back to John with an odd look on his face, “I heard you yell while in the shower. You alright?”

“Um…um,” John can feel his ears turn tomato red and hopes it is covered by the pink of his skin from his shower. “Yeah…yeah. I just stubbed my toe in the shower. No worries.”

“Ah” Sherlock turns and heads to his room and closes the door behind him. John can hear Sherlock shuffle around his room and the pipes rattle as the hot water is turned on. Clutching his clean boxers John heads over and shuts his bedroom door and then flops down onto his bed facing the ceiling, boxers over his face. ‘You are sooooo fucked’

******  
John has finally managed to get himself together and dressed and is padding down to the kitchen for the strongest cup of tea he may ever drink. Sherlock is still in the shower and John can hear the water running. That was really close this morning and he may have to be more careful about his wandering imagination in the future. He leaned against the kitchen counter and waited for the kettle to whistle letting his mind go blank. He wonders absently if Sherlock has had any more luck. Just as this thought passes through him the aforementioned man wanders into the kitchen dressed in one of his suits as always and John can hear his breath catch a little. So much for satiety he thinks to himself. 

“Tea?” John asks. 

“Hmm” Sherlock nods while checking in his microscope again. 

John nods back and pulls a second cup from the cabinet for Sherlock and adds the tea bag and sugar to it. The kettle goes off and John adds the hot water to let the cups steep. 

“Well, what’s the plan for today?’ John asks. 

“Don’t you have clinic today?” Sherlock could have sworn that John had a couple more days this week before a day off. Or was that last week? Sherlock tended to lose time while working a case. 

“Nope.” John answered and handed Sherlock his cup before heading into the living room to settle in his armchair with a book. 

‘Great’ Sherlock likes having John with him as a sounding board but with Sherlock’s increasing interest in John this may be a double edged sword causing extra distraction along with all the help John normally offers with each case. “Well, I have yet to make more progress and Lestrade hasn’t called with more information so I gather they haven’t had another body.” Sherlock pauses and looks attentively at the back of John’s head. John can feel the eyes on him and the hair on the back of his neck stand. He turns to look at his friend and sees something like doubt on Sherlock’s face. 

“Look,” Sherlock started, “I know it bothers you when I say I need another one.” Sherlock put emphasis on the last two words and John caught his meaning. “I don’t want another person dead but the more a killer provides the sooner I can catch them.” Sherlock actually looks a little concerned as he expertly avoids looking directly at John. 

“Sherlock, I know you don’t mean another person harm and you just want to catch the criminal. You don’t’ think I’m mad about the other day do you? I’m not really, for you another body is another piece of the puzzle and, being rational, we can’t help them any more now that they are dead except to catch the person who did that to them. Sometimes I just with it didn’t need that cost. That’s all.”

Sherlock has an almost relieved look on his face to know that John doesn’t think he is a psychopath like some others. Sherlock gives John a closed smile but it is genuine none the less and John returns with a warm and open one. John knows that most people wouldn’t be able to see the subtle changes on Sherlock’s face and in his body language but John has learned how to read it; he can see it clear as day. 

For the rest of the afternoon John is perched in his armchair reading a book while Sherlock is busy in the kitchen with his various body parts and chemicals. Despite all his effort Sherlock is having trouble concentrating on what he is doing because of John. John is still in his chair reading and making very little sound save the normal shuffling of pages or bodily adjustment. Of course John is unaware that Sherlock is drawn to watch his muscular shoulders flex with every move, to examine the back of his tan neck and the way his blonde hair lays. Sherlock could feel himself lick his lips with slight hunger and a strong desire to kiss that one small patch of skin. It would probably taste like a hint of salt and smell like John’s shampoo. Sherlock could hear John’s words in his ear again. “I know you don’t mean anyone harm.” He had been put at ease to know how John really felt on the matter. ’You may still have a chance to have him’ he thinks. Once Sherlock was holding an Erlenmeyer flask full of a strong acid and became so engrossed with the back of John’s neck that the flask slipped from his hands and shattered all over the kitchen floor sending acid and glass all over the place. Sherlock recoiled to the kitchen counter to keep is feet off the floor and the noise had startled John so much that the yelled in surprise. 

“What the HELL was that?” John yelled leaping from his chair. “And why are you on the counter?”   
“I dropped my flask of acid,” Sherlock responded coolly. 

“Oh Sherlock,” John sighed. “Well, how should we get it up before it eats a hole in the floor?” 

“There is a clean-up kit in the hall. If you could fetch it please seeing as how I’m stuck up here.”

John heads over to the hall closet and finds a box along the wall and hauls it over to the kitchen opening it to find a biohazard bag to collect the substance, a gravel type material to soak it up, gloves and a special broom and pan to get it into the bag. John puts on the gloves and opens the gravel to spread over the liquid and glass. 

“You alright,” he asks Sherlock who is still perched on the kitchen counter dangling his legs. Then John sees it; Sherlock’s pant leg is eaten through and his skin is turning red. “My God Sherlock! Your leg!” Sherlock looks down at it for the first time and sees the slight chemical burn. Without waiting John steps over the gravel pile on the floor and grabs Sherlock by the arm and starts to drag him upstairs against Sherlock’s protests.

“John…John! What are you doing” all the while trailing John up the stairs they head into John’s room and he is stood at the end of the bed. “Take your pants off.” John instructs and Sherlock’s eyes go wide. “I will do no such thing as…” 

“Sherlock either you get those off and let me treat your almost burn or we go to a hospital and they can treat and actual burn, which will be more painful and definitely scar.” John held Sherlock in his gaze using his Captain voice and look to get the lanky man to do what was needed instead of what he wanted. A few seconds pass as Sherlock looks over John’s face and knows he means what he says; he starts to undo the buttons at his waist and John goes to fetch his home med kit. Sherlock strips the pants off as well as his shoes and socks to expose all of his legs. He feels ridiculous standing basically half naked in John’s room. The thought ricochets in his skull, ‘half naked in John’s room, sitting on John’s bed.’ He becomes a little tense and soon John is back with the kit. He opens it up and sets it on the floor and sits cross legged between Sherlock’s knees, pulls on a clean set of gloves, opens a bottle of acid cleanser and dampens some gauze with it. He then takes Sherlock’s burned leg in his hands placing his foot in his lap and starts to slowly wash the skin on the inside of Sherlock’s calf and ankle. Sherlock hisses, partially at the cold of the liquid, but at the slight sting as well. But John’s touch is gentle and it is only a few minutes of repeated applications of the cleanser before John is satisfied enough to place some clean gauze over the slight burn. Sherlock watches John the whole time, reveling in the tender care the Doctor is paying such a minor injury. ‘You know it’s because it you right.’ Sherlock could only dream of hoping that was the reason for all the fuss but he can’t look away. He wants so badly to run his fingers through John’s hair but his limbs are heavy as lead with indecision that he doesn’t move. John looks up into Sherlock’s face and finds the younger man looking down at him with an unreadable expression. John is rooted to the spot on the floor and can’t seem to look away from Sherlock’s face. He had Sherlock in his room, on his bed. Suddenly John’s mental composure snaps. ‘He has Sherlock, with no pants, in his room, on his bed.’ John swallows hard but doesn’t move his hand from Sherlock’s leg and absentmindedly starts to softly rub the inside of Sherlock’s ankle with the pad of his thumb. Sherlock’s pupils widen and his breathing becomes deeper at the touch and he is desperately trying to control himself. The moment is shattered by a ringing that is coming from Sherlock’s discarded pants pocket. Sherlock twists to pull his phone from his pants and while he is turned John moves away to begin repacking his medical kit and replace it in his chest of drawers. Sherlock feels colder at the loss of the touch. But looks at John’s back and then down at his phone’s screen. It’s Lestrade.   
“Lestrade. How are you feeling? Good good. Yes we can be there in 20 min. Please text the address.”

John had turned back around and had his eyebrows raised when Sherlock hangs up. “Another one?” He asks. Sherlock nods and looks back at John. “Well, I guess we better get going. You’re going to need another pair of pants.” John motioning to the ones on his bed. Sherlock picks them up and examines the pant leg with the chemical on it. Sherlock pouts; he had really liked those pants and now he needed to get another pair. John laughed a little when he sees Sherlock’s face, “We’ll get you another pair soon as we can.” Sherlock rises to get re dressed and John heads down to get the rest of the gravel off the kitchen floor and grabs his coat. In five minutes they are headed out the door and hailing a cab. 

“You have very good bedside manner Doctor. I can see why you excel at what you do.”

“Thank you Sherlock.” John is a little stunned. That is twice in a week that Sherlock has complemented him on something he has done. The cab slides up and both men climb inside while Sherlock gives the address to the new crime scene. 

The cab pulls up to a throng of officers and the crime scene tape and Sherlock and John climb out of the cab. Donovan is there to greet them at the tape, if greet is what you could call it. The normal acerbic pleasantries are passed and John and Sherlock are escorted into the crime scene. Lestrade is standing next to the body waiting on the pair. This one is different than the last one. This is a young woman facing up with her chest cut open and then stitched back together both of her hands are missing and her face is beaten to pulp. 

“We have already cleared the body of any explosives. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time would we?” Lestrade is practically yelling. 

“Why are you yelling at us?” John asked. Lestrade looks as if he can’t hear what John has said until he remembers and pulls ear plugs out of his ears. “Sorry, had a little damage from the last one and doc said I should wear these when in a loud place to help reduce more damage.” Sherlock has already started his examination of the body and John quickly drops to begin his. This one is so different from the last one; different gender, different beating, hands gone, chest opened but no grenade. This one looked healthier then the last one too. The other one was so pale, almost blue. John turned to Lestrade, “Has there been a tissue study on the previous body to see if it had been frozen?” 

The DI checked his notes. “No, I don’t think there was. Why?”

“Well this body looks the right color but the other one looked oddly pale, and not just no sun pale but blue like it had been frozen.” 

Sherlock stood and both he and Lestrade looked at John gaping. “What?” John asked. He was afraid he had asked something stupid. Lestrade shrugged. “I’ll let the lab people know we need to do a test to check.” The DI walked away to take care of some other business. Sherlock stayed rooted and just looked at John and he was afraid that he had done something to make Sherlock mad. Sherlock began to walk away back to the main road swiftly and John was sure he had done something to anger the detective. Upon reaching the main road Sherlock hailed a cab and gave the address and John barely caught the cab before it sped off. Both men road back to the flat in silence John feeling a little cowed. ‘Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong!’ John stayed quiet none the same. He didn’t want to break what may already be a tenuous mood with Sherlock. Soon the cab had dropped them off on Baker Street and John fiddled to get the door open. It had gotten late and John did have clinic the next day. As they came in the door and began the customary hanging of the coats and scarves and emptying of pockets Sherlock whirled past John to retrieve a picture of the first body that had been taken before the grenade went off. Sherlock looked them over and over realizing that John may have been onto something at the latest crime scene. Sherlock dropped his hands to his side and looked at John who was standing there looking at him trying not to fidget. 

‘He saw it! He actually saw it. John is right, the first body was frozen but this one wasn’t. How could I have missed it?’ 

John was about to retreat to his room for the night. He couldn’t take the way Sherlock was staring at him face frozen, revealing absolutely no emotion. Sherlock looked away from John and plopped down on the couch to continue to look over other notes he had taken and to add the observations from the most recent scene. John was relieved to have Sherlock not staring at him so pointedly anymore but he wished he could tell if Sherlock was in fact mad or just in the case. John sighed, a little deflated. 

“Sherlock I have clinic in the morning again so I’m off to bed. Goodnight.” 

John turned to head up the second set of stairs to his room before he heard Sherlock call behind him. “Goodnight John.” John paused and wondered if what he heard was correct. Was that almost pride in his voice? Sherlock sat on the couch in the living room and had a wide smile across his face. John was observing…observing like he was. Just then he had forgotten to do something and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Typing quickly and hitting the send button Sherlock felt he was very close to solving the case indeed. Sherlock waited to hear the ding on John’s phone upstairs before moving on with his notes. 

John hears his phone ping and goes over to the night stand where he has placed it and looks at the screen. 

Thank you for the leg and good work at the crime scene. You may have been right. SH 

John sits on the edge of his bed holding his phone in disbelief. 

*******

Sherlock Holms is a bonafide genius. As such one of his personal beliefs is that the mind is central, everything else is transport. As such he has never taken much stock in exploring the avenues of fleshly pleasure; the very idea doesn’t occur to him. He can understand why other, less genius, people do it but he cannot fathom why he would be interested in such a thing. As of late, however, his feelings have been doing a lot of strange things lately and combined with some of the things his body does that Sherlock normally ignores…let’s just say that his body is becoming harder and harder to ignore. 

Sherlock is lying awake on his bed with the door closed. He had taken John’s advice from the other day and attempted a couple hours sleep and while they hadn’t been particularly restful, he did find his headache relieved. And after any sleep his nether regions responded as they always had. ‘Bladder full and need to empty…ergo penis erect.’ Not so complicated. Today however there was something different about it; a new sensitivity behind the normal morning sensations. Sherlock began to search through his mind palace for the location of the information he needed to identify this new sensation but he couldn’t find it. Sherlock was in a new depth. He heard John moving about the kitchen stepping carefully around this experiment or those papers making his morning tea, and after about 20 minutes Sherlock hears the door open and John trot down the stairs, open the outer door, close and lock it. After a moment of silence Sherlock’s phone dings. 

Off to clinic, let me know if you need anything from market, will stop by after work. JW

Sherlock read over the text and could hear John’s voice in his mind. At the thought of John’s voice his erect penis makes a small jump. There it was again…that new sensation. ‘This must be explored.’ Sherlock rises from the bed and paces the room for a while delving into the various methods this could be cataloged. But to soon his other bodily needs, that could not be ignored, were brought to the forefront of his mind. He tossed his hands in the air and made his way to his bathroom and began to relieve himself. His mind began to wonder back the case at hand and Sherlock took no notice that the annoying new problem had vanished. He turned the shower on and let the room fill with steam before climbing in under the hot spray. Sherlock would have to remember to ask Lestrade about that tissue block test results. This may be something or nothing and even with the second body Sherlock was feeling like there was something still missing. He smiled again thinking how John had made the simplest of observations but it was the right one. There was a tug on Sherlock’s leg and he looked down remembering the gauze John had placed there yesterday for his burn. It was now totally water logged and Sherlock pulled it off to reveal an angry red patch on his leg, but John had been right. Without immediate treatment it would have been much worse. Sherlock ran his fingers over the patch of skin and could still feel John’s fingers there; the gentle and caring touch that John had paid the inside of his lower extremity had been mesmerizing to Sherlock. Sherlock usually hated human contact, it was rough and unpleasant. Especially in a hospital! But not John, he did nothing special in and of itself but the sensation on Sherlock’s skin had been the most pleasant contact he could remember ever having. Sherlock closed his eyes and continued to ghost his fingers over the spot on his leg, feeling John’s hands the whole time. Soon the new sensation had returned but Sherlock was only vaguely aware of it, noting if off handedly in the back of his mind. ‘John’s hands’ was really all Sherlock could focus on at the moment and as he let his fingers dance over his skin everywhere he could clearly see John in his mind. The shorter, tan, blonde was the closest thing Sherlock had to a friend in his life. He could feel John’s dark eyes slide over him along with his soft fingers brushing across his collar bone, and down his arms before drawing in close to him. Sherlock could see himself reach around John’s broad shoulders and run his fingers through John’s hair and caress the back of John’s neck. The same spot that Sherlock had been so fascinated with for the last two weeks. He could feel the broad expanse that was John’s chest press against him up to the shower wall and semi lift Sherlock off the floor supporting his weight firmly. John’s hands would curl around and weave themselves into his hair and slightly pull to allow John more access to Sherlock’s neck and chest. Sherlock could feel the toned musculature as the older man would kiss down his neck and chest before Sherlock would grab John’s face and pull him up to kiss him on the lips slowly feeling all of John against his skin. Suddenly it was there, front and center; that new sensation had been niggling at Sherlock from the back of his mind but he hadn’t paid it that much attention. Now it made itself known loud and clear. Sherlock’s penis was the most erect he think he had ever seen it and all it took was John; not his bladder, not anything, just John. Sherlock stood there under the hot water and was suddenly deflated. ‘What do I do about THIS?!’ He almost screamed at himself. ‘Now you have gone and done it! You manage all this time and now you want attention.’ Sherlock tentatively moved his hand and grasped himself firmly. Yep, this was definitely what he was feeling this morning as he winced at the sensation. He slowly started to move his hand over his shaft and became aware of a warm pool gathering in his stomach; and while it was new it was not altogether unpleasant. Sherlock continues to slide his hand over himself in longer and longer strokes and soon he is unable to remain standing and uses his other hand to brace himself against the wall. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid and he can no longer control his thoughts. His hand moves a little faster and his hips seem to be moving into the stokes of their own accord. Before Sherlock even realizes it he is letting out a loud yell as he shoots sticky strings of semen and his knees totally fail him. He catches himself on all fours on the floor of his shower and is breathing hard for a few moments. ‘A single man…not even the man, just the thought of him has reduced you to a quivering mass.’ Sherlock stands and rinses off from head to toe, showers properly and turns the water off. Even though he finished several minutes ago his legs still protest when he moves to step out of the shower. The remaining sensation of his orgasm making all of his limbs feel a little like jelly and Sherlock is concerned that there may be lasting side effects. ‘Relax; you know that’s not true. Other people have sex all the time and they retain the full use of their limbs. Just sit for a minute.’ Sherlock towels off, wraps the towel around his waist and shuffles to his bed flopping unceremoniously onto it. 

After what seems like hours of not moving Sherlock sits bolt upright. ‘I need data’ he runs down the stairs and grabs the first laptop he sees and, of course, it’s John’s. He runs back up to his room with the computer and sets to work finding out what he can. After searching every variation he can find on sex, both clinical and recreational, Sherlock is no closer to understanding what has happened to him. Yes, he knows all about the hormones and brain chemistry but why to HIM. He has maintained himself for 33 years now with no problem and all of a sudden a short, blond, tan, muscular, Army Captain can manage to halt all brain function and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Hell, he doesn’t even have to be in the same building. Sherlock is severely unsatisfied with the information he is finding and begins to pace his bedroom drumming his fingers on his chin again letting his mind race through every crevice of his mind palace. Surely there is something he can reference. But there is nothing…nothing at all. Not a scant shred of information that could help him regain some composure. Sherlock, in his mental frenzy has also failed to note several other things. 1) He has, in fact, stopped pacing and is simply standing in the middle of his room; and 2) John has just walked into the flat. 

John climbs the stairs to the kitchen, arms laden with groceries but finds no Sherlock. It’s odd that he hadn’t heard from him all day, usually he has a laundry list of things he needs for his experiments. John sets to putting the groceries away and sets the kettle on the stove. Today was a much better day at the clinic. He had been so busy he didn’t even have time to daydream think of Sherlock. That and with the food shopping he had been mentally occupied most of the day. John pulled out his phone and decided to text Sherlock.

Home with food stuffs. Have you heard about the case? JW

He hits the send button and waits for the kettle to whistle. After a second John hears the bing of Sherlock’s phone receiving his text upstairs in his room. John sighs and figures he shouldn’t be surprised. After making his tea John heads for his armchair to blog but can’t find his computer anywhere. After a minute of looking around downstairs he heads up. 

“Sherlock, have you seen my laptop?” No reply. “I know you’re home; I heard your phone go off and you’re never without it.” John has reached the top of the stairs and there is still no answer. John turns to Sherlock’s room expecting the door to be shut but what he finds is totally different. Sherlock’s door is wide open, John’s laptop is on the bed having clearly been used, and Sherlock is standing in the middle of the room wrapped in a towel and not moving. 

“Sherlock” 

“…”

“Sherlock?” John is a little worried. Sherlock has never yet lost himself this deep in thought. John moves to stand in front of his flat mate and waves a hand in front of his face. Nothing. Sherlock is looking right at John but he clearly can’t see him. His lips are pursed slightly and his arms are folded close to him with his fingertips resting on his chin; his eyes open but totally not seeing. 

“Sherlock.” John reaches out and shakes his shoulder and Sherlock is so surprised by the contact that he yelps and flails his arms knocking John square in the face before he can tell who it is. John is so knocked off balance that he starts to tumble and reaches out for something to steady him. What he gets is Sherlock’s arm, which isn’t that steadfast. John ends up pulling Sherlock down on top of him as he hits the floor. It is a great heap of arms and legs to get mildly untangled, all the while both men yelling at the other. 

“What the hell was that for?” John yelled as Sherlock tried to keep himself dignified. 

“You startled me, that’s all. I was deep in thought and I didn’t expect such a rude shake; even if it was you.” Sherlock threw, a bit petulantly back. John just sighed.

“Well will you get off me?” 

“Fine”

Sherlock goes to push off John’s chest but catches himself. Here he is, the very man that Sherlock wanked to in the shower, under his very fingers. John stopped struggling and looked up at Sherlock, whose face was hovering just over his. John could feel the clinch in his stomach and suddenly he was moving with no thought at all. Well maybe one thought; ’Do it!’ He does. John plants a kiss right on Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock is thrust right back into his morning shower and his hips buck a little into John’s thigh. 

The world stops spinning.

Both men realize what they may have exposed within an instant and both Sherlock and John flail to be free. Sherlock scrambles up and clings to his towel indignantly, while John runs straight for the door of his room, flinging himself through it and shutting it behind him. John stands panting with his back against the door of his room. ‘ShitShitShitShit!!! There is no undoing that now. He knows for sure’ John regains some composure and runs his mind over what actually happened. ‘Found Sherlock, shook him, fell, kissed him’, here John stops. Did he remember right, did Sherlock actually respond well to John? He shakes his head. There is no way. Sherlock doesn’t do sex. He’s asexual. ‘And here we are back at sooo fucked.’ 

Sherlock is still holding onto his towel as he watched John dash out and hide in his room. Sherlock couldn’t even fathom why John was in his room to begin with. Sherlock’s eyes land on the laptop. ‘Of course, he was looking for his computer.’ Sherlock noticed a tightness below his waist and looking down he sees his erection staring back at him. ‘Hell, I fancy my flat mate. Or part of me does anyway. Sherlock sighs and slides into some pajamas, collects John’s laptop and heads across the hall. Sherlock steels himself and knocks on the door. There is a light shuffle but no answer.

“John, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”

John slowly opens the door to his room looking anywhere but at Sherlock. Sherlock proffers the laptop. 

“I believe you were looking for this. I borrowed it this morning as I couldn’t find mine.”

“Ah yes, well…Thank you.” John goes to retrieve the laptop and he brushed Sherlock’s finger slightly. Sherlock’s breathing hitches and John’s eyes widen and he turns a little pink in the face. 

Sherlock swings around calling behind him, “Goodnight John.”

“Good night Sherlock.” John whispers. It was all John could do to put himself in bed that night. 

Sherlock can hear the door of John’s room click shut behind him, and the shuffle as John sits on the bed. All is quiet and Sherlock has a twinge of something like guilt. John was his best mate and now he may have scared him off for good. Sherlock had always been convinced that he was going to do something to make John hate him but he never expected it to be this. It hurts more then he wants to think about. Sherlock bites his bottom lip to keep him from getting more upset and when he does he can taste John. ‘Taste…? Why can I taste him?’ Sherlock pauses in his door and looks at the spot on the floor where they had lain. John had startled him and it would be only natural to jump at that kind of thing. ‘I can’t believe I kissed him! Did I kiss him? Did John kiss me?’ Sherlock can’t think straight and he needs a distraction. He heads down to the living room, digs out his nicotine patches, slaps on four and tosses himself onto the couch. Sherlock knows his memory could not be so flawed as to not know if he kissed John or if John kissed him. He replays the event over and over in his head and he can see it clearly; his face so close to John’s, no longer a fantasy but right here and within reach. John’s chest felt just has Sherlock had imagined and his eyes were deep pools that almost seemed black in the dim light of Sherlock’s room. The whole thing had happened so fast. Frustrated he hops off the couch and heads over to his Petri dishes and tries to focus on the experiment he is running. 

The next morning John heads down stairs to the kitchen and tries to appear confident as he comes through the door. ‘It’s no big deal. Act natural; just be natural because nothing happened….you just kissed your flat mate that you happen to have the hots for. Nothing to panic over.’ John comes onto the kitchen to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table looking over some notes he had been working on. 

“Morning Sherlock. Tea?”

“Yes thank you.” Sherlock doesn’t look up. He’s has decided that he should just treat John as if nothing happened. Hopefully if Sherlock doesn’t treat him any different than he had in the past John might gloss over the whole event and Sherlock won’t have to watch him leave. The kettle boiled on the stove and after a couple more minutes John hands Sherlock his mug over his shoulder and heads out to the living room to settle into his chair. Sherlock lasts all of about two minutes before he is regarding the back of John’s neck and he licks his lips remembering the kiss; more fantasy fodder. ‘You really need to get this sorted or you may never be able to take a sane shower ever again.’

*******

 

The next few days go by without incident of any kind and both Sherlock and John are feeling more at ease, pushing the event into the back of their minds and into the past. John has used the clinic as a mild escape. Sherlock is getting insufferable and in a mild frenzy over not having solved the case yet and has spent hours in one of three places; the morgue, the Yard, or bouncing around the flat flipping through books or going over photos during the day. At night he would play something on the violin at four in the morning that sounded more like robots having sex, this being right after he has ruined another pot or had blown up another kitchen appliance. One night John is settling in bed a little early, reading and listening to Sherlock craze around the flat. Suddenly there was a solid thump coming from the kitchen and the apartment went quiet. John had become accustomed to Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies and knows when something is amiss. John put his book in his lap and turned his head to the door of his room listening to see if Sherlock continued to make any movement. When John hadn’t heard anything in awhile he slid out of bed and padded over to the door flinging it open. ‘So help me if he has blown up another appliance I will strangle him!’ When John comes into the living room he doesn’t immediately see his flat mate. 

“Sherlock?” He peers around the kitchen and sees Sherlock sprawled out on the floor unconscious. “Good God, Sherlock?!” John kneels beside the detective on the floor and shakes him to no avail. “Sherlock!” John leans down over him and can see the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and can feel his warm breath on his cheek. Sherlock gives a small, quiet snore. “Uhhgg…Sherlock” John can’t help but be relieved that there is really nothing wrong as he rocks back on his heels and looks down at Sherlock’s prone form. He reaches over and softly brushes the dark curls out of Sherlock’s eyes and across his forehead and Sherlock moans a little and leans into the touch. 

“Well I can’t very well leave you here can I?” He asks more to himself. John wriggles an arm under Sherlock’s knees and the other under his arms and around his shoulders lifting him off the floor. ‘I really should start insisting you eat more.’ The slender man is so light in John’s arms despite the strength John knows he possesses. Sherlock moans a little due to the movement and curls into John’s chest. John’s heart beats a little faster at the unknown gesture and heads for the stairs.

Upon reaching Sherlock’s room he has a little trouble getting the door open but is successful after a couple tries. He walks over to the edge of Sherlock’s bed and uses his knees to gently lower the sleeping man out of his arms. John can see that Sherlock has a small frown on his face as John pulls away and just as he thinks he is clear Sherlock rolls over and latches onto the remaining arm that is still a little under his shoulders. 

“Sherlock,” John whispers. “Sherlock, please let go.” John tries to gently pry the fingers from around his forearm but Sherlock is now rolling over John’s arm pulling it further under him and John back onto the bed. “Sherlock” John’s whisper is a little harsher. He could easily tug his arm out from under him but John would do anything to not wake the detective. He gets so little sleep anyway and he has a hard enough time convincing him to just lie down for a couple hours. John seems resigned to his fate, not that he is really all that bothered, and lays down on the bed behind Sherlock; one arm under the already sleeping man. He does his best to get comfortable without being any more encroaching but is finding it difficult. Eventually John gives up and lays his other arm over Sherlock’s midsection and tries to go to sleep. ‘Well if I’m stuck here I may as well be comfortable and get a few hours of shut eye.’ Sherlock, in his sleep nestles back into John’s arms and seems to become all the more relaxed and John can’t help but smile. 

*******  
Sherlock gives a small groan and lifts one of his hands to rub his eyes; the sunlight is seeping in through the curtains. He blinks a few times to try and lift the mist of sleep from his mind and he could swear the he sees a familiar form exiting his bedroom. He runs his arm along the sheet next to him to find it comfortingly warm. When he is fully awake he sits up to find himself in bed and it is clear that someone has been in the bed with him. The pipes in the wall rattle as John turns on the hot water to shower and Sherlock rises from the bed to wonder to the kitchen. 

Standing at the end of the table, Sherlock is a little confused. ‘I remember working last night. John had gone to bed. And I was over by the fridge.’ Usually when Sherlock works himself to exhaustion and passes out we wakes to find himself in the last place he remembers being; but not this time. He sits at the table and goes back to the work that was interrupted last night and soon he can hear John headed down for the morning routine. Sherlock looks up as John enters the kitchen and is prepared to hand John his tea mug but instead his mouth goes a little dry, mug forgotten in his hands. John is wearing one of his more snug jumpers with a pair of tailored khaki pants and he is staring at John full on. Sherlock can feel the arousal tighten in his chest and his hands grasp the mug as if it is the last barrier between his sanity and losing it completely. 

“Morning” John is very chipper this morning. Not only did he sleep well due to the lack of violin and general banging but he got to spend it next to Sherlock. Better yet he had managed to get out of the bed and the room before Sherlock woke to find him there. John gathers the supplies for tea and holds his hand out to take the mug from Sherlock, but Sherlock doesn’t move. He just sits there staring at John with his lips parted, breathing shallowly and white knuckling his cup. 

“Sherlock, did you want tea or not?” 

The question brings him back to earth and he blinks before looking down at the cup in his hands and realizing he still has it hands it over to John summarily. “Morning, and yes.” 

John moves around to the stove with Sherlock’s mug and adds it to his on the counter to wait for the kettle. In the mean time he makes some toast and eggs, pilling two plates and setting one next to Sherlock on the table before retrieving the tea off the counter. John sets Sherlock’s tea next to his plate.

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You need to eat. I haven’t seen you consume anything save tea in three days.”

John had his own plate and tea and is moving around the table to sit across from Sherlock and tuck in to his own breakfast. Sherlock wants to protest the food next to him again but as John moves around the table he is suddenly aware of John’s ass. ‘Oh God! Why…why did I suggest he buy better fitting clothes?’  
His breathing is shallow again. 

“Sherlock!”

“What?”

“Eat” John points his fork at the plate across from him. Sherlock picks up the fork and pokes at the eggs before deciding it’s not worth fighting over and shoves a forkful into his mouth. John smiles smugly but it is a sincere and appreciative smile all the same. After John polished off his plate and swigs the last of his tea he rises from the table and heads for the door. “I’m off to the clinic but I only have a half day so I’ll be home a little early. Let me know if you hear from Lestrade or make any progress on your case.” Sherlock nods from the table still eating and John turns to head out the door. Sherlock catches another look at John’s ass and starts to choke on his eggs as John is headed out the outer door. He grabs his tea and takes a long draw slightly burning his mouth with the hot liquid. ‘That ass may very well be the death of me.’  
Uninterested in the remainder of the eggs, Sherlock finishes his tea. ‘I need to get out.’ With a swift movement he bounds up the stairs and throws on some clothes before heading out the door to spend some time at the morgue. 

******

The afternoon passes quickly for John and before he knows it its 1 o’clock. “Buy Sarah!” He called headed for the door. He didn’t wait to hear if she responded and soon found himself in the bright sunlight. He felt strangely good; like he had taken a deep breath of fresh air and his mind felt hungry. His back pocket vibed and he reached for his mobile.

Meet me at The Yard if it is convenient. SH

Another ding.

Come if it isn’t convenient. SH

John sidled up to the curb and hailed a cab and soon he was winding his way across London. His mind went back to that morning. John had slept peacefully next to his friend; having his arms for all intents and purposes wrapped around him. John had fallen asleep to the smell of Sherlock’s hair and the light press of his shoulders against him. When he had awoken, John was glad to find the Sherlock had rolled onto his stomach releasing his arm and had also not woken. John had slipped out of the bed and through the door as silently as he could and crept off to the shower.

The cab pulled up the NSY and John paid the cabbie and slid out. His phone vibed again.

Where are you? SH

Outside about to head in. JW

Good. In Lestrade’s office. SH

John was soon in Lestrade’s door, Sherlock in one of the chairs and both men looked up as John came in. 

“Oh good, now that you’re here Sherlock might start telling me why he is here.” Apparently the detective had decided that his faithful blogger should be present before he began being useful. 

“Have you done the histological test on the first body?”

“Yeah, John had been right; the first body had been frozen.” 

“Yes. And the second one had not been.” John sat there as Sherlock went over his deductions with the DI and made vague mental notes so he could blog them later. Sherlock had a theory about how to catch the killer and John was absently aware that both Sherlock and Lestrade were tossing his name about while he had not been paying any attention. 

“I’m not going to have John out there dangling like that?” Lestrade said forcefully. 

“Why ever not?” Sherlock looked affronted. “John is very capable of looking out for himself. And we’ll be there if anything goes wrong.” 

“I’m sorry…dangling where?” John interjected. 

“Sherlock wants to use you as bait to draw the killer out and let him take you so we can follow you to where he does whatever it is he does.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” John had turned to face Sherlock and the question may have come out a little more snappish then he had intended. 

“Really John! You’ll be fitted with a GPS so we always know where you are and Lestrade and I will always be near to help out if things go badly.” 

“Sherlock, have you thought of any other way to reveal the killer besides using another person…namely me?”

“Yes and I’m sure this is the best way.”

“Have you thought of every possible thing that could go wrong?”

Rolling his eyes, “Yes John, of course I have. You will be perfectly safe.”

John thought about it for a few minutes and decided that Sherlock had never let him down before and he had never not given his help. Anything for Sherlock was starting to become his life and so far so good…save the kitchen. 

“Alright….fine. But so help me if I come home with one unnecessary bruise Sherlock….”John had to come up with a threat to keep the detective on his toes; “You’re experiments are off limits to the kitchen for a month.” 

Sherlock grinned glad to have the doctor’s trust and knowing that John only slightly meant the threat. Sherlock would never put John in any real harm. He would do almost anything to keep John with him. “Those terms are acceptable. Lestrade, get your end set up and text when you’re ready. We have our own preparations to make.”

Sherlock and John left NSY and headed away from the building. “We have to make one quick stop at St. Bart’s before we head back to the flat.” It was close by and so they decided to walk. The sun still shone but the wind had picked up as the afternoon wore on and John noticed that Sherlock stayed closer to him then he needed to.

“John, were you in bed with me?”

‘Damn!’ John didn’t look at Sherlock but tried to make his voice sound a little surprised. “I wasn’t in bed with you.”

“John” Sherlock probing with his voice.

“Really. Why do you think someone was in bed with you?”

“My observations this morning in my room; what else?”

“Well, May I ask what you observed exactly?”

“I woke seeing someone leave my room and when I observed my sheets I could tell two people had been sleeping there.”

“Maybe you just rolled around in your sleep a little.” John was doing his best to be convincing but he wasn’t sure Sherlock was buying it. 

Sherlock let the matter drop. He could have sworn there had been another person in the bed and the only other person it could have been was John; but if John wasn’t going to admit it he would let it go for the time being. The pair soon arrived at Bart’s and headed into the lab where Sherlock had several other beakers and slides, and other apparatuses working away. “Ah yes, here we are.” Sherlock picked up a pill sized object and whirled right out the door again. “Come along John!” He called and John went right back out the door behind him. They headed down to the morgue and found Molly making some final notes on a gentleman that had recently slipped this mortal coil. “Oh, hello Sherlock, John.” She piped. John looked at the body on the table. “Heart attack.” Molly motioned to it. 

“Molly, do you have it?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh yeah, one sec.” Molly moved off to the recesses of the room into a storage closet. Sherlock whirled around to John.

“John would you kindly remove your jumper.” 

“Why?” 

“I need to draw a vile of blood for our little plan.” John set his bag down and began to pull his jumper over his head and toss it onto the counter behind him, revealing his white t-shirt underneath. Sherlock could see the ghost of definition that was John’s chest and had to remember to stay focused. John found a tall stool and pulled it over to where he had been standing, climbed up and stuck his arm out for Sherlock to tie off the medical tubing. 

“Sherlock, are you sure this is going to work? What if it doesn’t work? What if there is something you haven’t thought of?” John could never watch while his blood was being drawn so he was looking away. In the mean time Molly had returned and was handing something to Sherlock.

“John, have I ever let you do anything that could get you hurt?” 

“…No.” John admitted.  
“Why would I let you get hurt now? Besides, I meant what I said. You’re very capable of defending yourself. I also trust you to follow my instructions implicitly. More so than any of Lestrade’s people. Hold still, almost done; one more. “

John was feeling a tug in his chest. Sherlock wouldn’t let him get hurt ever. He had pretty much just said so; and he trusted him. John was about to turn and say something else when there was a sharp stab in his upper arm. 

“Ow!” John had yelled at the top of his lungs. “What the HELL was that!?” John saw a large gauge needle being withdrawn from the inside of his upper arm. 

“Your GPS locator.” Sherlock responded coolly. 

“You couldn’t have put it in my clothes or something?” 

“What if he had made you remove your clothes. Or worse, knocked you out and removed them for you? If he finds that then he’ll know we are watching him and may just kill you then and there.” 

“You could have warned me a little.”

“Oh please John, you can’t watch me draw your blood. You would have never let me do that voluntarily.” 

John can do nothing but grumble and glare at the detective as he rose and put his jumper back on. His inner arm twinges and he winced a little as they headed out of the hospital. 

“Bye Sherlock, bye John” Molly called; John waived. 

It was a short cab ride back to the flat and Sherlock went straight up to John’s room and started rifling through his clothes. John trudged up after him. “What are you doing in my clothes Sherlock?” John was getting a little annoyed. Sherlock pulled out pair of Jeans that John had shoved to the back of the drawer because they were just a little too tight and moved over to the closet and pulled one of John’s black, button downs. Tossing it onto the bed with the jeans John was still waiting for an answer from Sherlock, who was now digging through the back of John’s closet looking for something. After a moment he retreated out of the closet holding onto John’s black tie less leather dress shoes. 

“Change and meet me back down stairs.” Sherlock moved to exit John’s room. 

“Why can’t I wear what I have on now?” John doesn’t get a reply and can see Sherlock’s back disappearing down the stairs. He sighs; Sherlock is right. When it comes to a case John will follow instructions. John sheds his clothes and starts to pull the on the other set. He stops to think for a second. ‘If Sherlock is dressing me up then there is probably a type that this guy goes for. Why half ass it?’ John sheds all of his clothes and heads over to the shower for a quick wash and rinse. Toweling off about 15 min later he looks himself over in the mirror. ‘Maybe a little product in my hair.’ John finishes in the bathroom and goes over to the bed to retrieve the clothes and he begins to get dressed. Black socks, dark fitted jeans, black undershirt and belt, black button down left un-tucked and the sleeves rolled up, and finally, black leather shoes with a final once over in the mirror. ‘Not half bad John, not half bad.’ John heads down to the sitting room for the detective stamp of approval.   
Sherlock is busying himself collecting what he needs for the nights events when he hears John enter behind him. What Sherlock finds standing where John should be is a blond, tan, Adonis. ‘Oh…My God! ’   
Sherlock’s takes in a sharp breath through his nose and letting out a small moan; he can feel his pulse quicken, his palms get a little sweaty. 

“What do you think?” John says turning slowly to complete the affect. Sherlock can see the tone of John’s upper legs and rear through the clinging denim, and his shoulders seem broader in the black shirt then Sherlock remembers. His jumpers definitely hide quite a bit of prime real estate on his flat mate. Sherlock rakes over the rest of John before looking him in the face to respond. 

“Yes…” it’s pitched a little higher then Sherlock wants. “Yes, that is very good.” Sherlock swallows hard and has to sit carefully noting the tightness in his stomach. John nods and heads over to his chair but before sitting he begins to remove his button down shirt and Sherlock starts to panic. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Well, I don’t want to wrinkle it before we manage to leave the house.” John drapes the shirt on the back of one of the kitchen chairs that is close at hand before flopping into his arm chair. Sherlock just watches him. John starts to finger the tracking device in his arm, frowning. 

“What is it?” Sherlock asks. He can tell John is upset about something.

“I feel like I’ve been chipped.”

“Chipped?”

“You know, like you do to your pets in case they get lost.” John has a scowl as he says this indicating he feels like Sherlock’s pet. 

“Well, now I can always find you.” 

“Thank you, that makes me feel soooo much better.” John affects sarcasm but is smiling at Sherlock none the less. 

It is late in the afternoon and Sherlock and John fall into silence for a while, John with his book and Sherlock with the paper. Soon the sun slides behind the tall buildings of London and Sherlock decides it’s time to head out of the apartment. 

“Come on John. I believe it’s time to go.” Sherlock lifts himself off the couch and grabs his coat and scarf off the hooks, draping them over his arm. 

“I thought we were waiting on Lestrade to let us know when he was ready.”

“Yes, we are.” 

“Then where are we going?” John has now risen from the chair and is replacing his button down, making sure it hangs on his frame as before and Sherlock is not unaware that it still manages to affect him. 

“Food” Was all Sherlock says as he swoops out the door and down the stairs. Sherlock knew John hadn’t eaten in a while and figured he should find a way to fill him with carbs a few hours before they were to be needed. There may be a lot of running this evening and the energy would not be amiss. 

Angelo was very obliging, as always, and John ate while Sherlock watched. Sherlock never did anything without purpose and this was no exception. He was also hoping to have enough time to get a little alcohol in the doctor’s system as well. Not enough to dull his senses but just enough to make him seem a little vulnerable to the on looking suspect. Sherlock waived to the waitress who brought them two largish, glasses of red wine and John absent mindedly picks up the glass placed in front of him. Sherlock doesn’t really drink his but swirls the glass for something to do with his hands. John continues to eat while gazing out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Generally he shares with Sherlock what he is thinking but this time the shorter, well dressed man is quiet; Sherlock takes the opportunity to observe John again.

‘He really is quite fit.’ Sherlock watches the way the collar on John’s shirt brushes his chin while he is looking out the window, how the cords of muscle in John’s neck twist as he moves. John has finished his wine and without notice Sherlock swaps glasses with him to keep John drinking just a little longer. John’s hand reaches out for the glass and Sherlock can observes that John’s hands always look so warm. He supposes it is due to the tan color they retain. Sherlock’s hands are pale like the rest of him and it makes them look all the more spindly and cold. Sherlock looks back at John’s face to see his friend watching him, and John smiled. Sherlock could feel something in his chest swell as he returned the smile. Sherlock’s mobile vibes on the table and both men look down to see it is from Lestrade. 

Ready when you are. Where should we set up? -GL

Sherlock picks up the phone and taps out a quick message and John is already waiving for the bill when Sherlock looks back up. After a few more minutes they are in a cab headed to the club district of town. John can see the neon lights of several of the clubs and there are small groups of people filing in or out of them; blokes out for a quick hook up and several very pretty girls in high heels, short skirts, and low cut tops. Any other night John might have looked on appreciatively, but tonight there was another agenda. It occurred to John then that he had no clue what exactly that agenda entailed. 

“Sherlock…what exactly is the plan?”

“I had hoped to set you up in a bar and go from there.” 

“So you had no plan.” ‘figures’

“I’m sure Lestrade will wire you up with an ear piece so we can communicate.”

“And where will you be?” John had meant the question to sound accusatory; to indicate that Sherlock may just ‘hang out’ while John was in potential danger. It came out more like a child asking their parents not to wonder too far off in case they need them; it made John sound scared. Sherlock turned to look at John and, while he had schooled his features to appear calm, Sherlock could not ignore the twinge of fear that hovered in John’s eyes. 

“I won’t let you out of my sight if I can help it. That is also why I insisted we, how did you put it? ‘chip’ you.” Sherlock was smiling despite the seriousness of what they were attempting to accomplish.   
“Prat” John playfully shoved his detective and smiled, knowing Sherlock would know that John trusted him with his safety. ‘His detective.’ John had never thought of Sherlock as his, but after the last few days; what with the day dreams and the sleeping in the same bed, John knew he wanted Sherlock to be ‘his detective’. He had to put the thought out of his mind. Even if they had been sitting at home when this thought occurred to him Sherlock would never really go for that sort of thing; ‘Married to his work.’

Soon the cab had dropped them off at a small shop a couple blocks down from the night clubs. Sherlock moved away from the main door to a side ally and found the back door to the shop. As he pulled on the door the hinges protested loudly. Sherlock and John moved through the opening and John reached behind them to pull the door shut. Both men stood for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the dim surroundings of the back store room. Sherlock was always faster at everything and this was no different. John could make out the tall mans form moving away and out to the main area of the shop and he followed behind. Sherlock could see Lestrade, as well as several plain clothes officers and a small sniper team assembled in the store preparing for the events of the evening. Lestrade had just finished giving instructions to several of the officers who then filed out the back door and, assumedly, to their locations throughout the clubs they were focusing on. Lestrade saw Sherlock out of the corner of his eye and waived to him indicating he would be over in a moment. After giving the sniper team their instructions Lestrade weaved his way around. Sherlock looked as he always did; in a well dressed suit, face cold and emotionless. Just then, John stepped out from behind the detective and Lestrade was almost taken aback by John’s choice of attire. John shrugs and thumbs at Sherlock; “I’m just following instructions.” Just at that moment, Anderson and Donovan walk past on their way out the door, but instead of insulting Sherlock they both gawk at John. 

“What ARE you wearing?” Anderson asks indignantly. 

“Do you like it?” John does a slow turn to add effect, just like he did with Sherlock back at the flat. “I knew you would.” John is smirking. Usually when Donovan or Anderson open their mouths they say something that just bristles John and he wants to punch them in the face, since Donovan is a woman he generally opts for Anderson in that small fantasy of his. This time he has a much better idea. Since John was all poshed up and Anderson had been the one to take particular notice John quickly closed the space between him and the officer, sliding a hand around his waist, laying his head on his chest and slid one tan finger down the front of his shirt almost to his waist. John almost purrs up at him, “It is sooo sweet of you to notice.” Anderson looks horror stricken as John quickly breaks the embrace and moves to stand back by Sherlock; who has an unreadable expression on his face and John can hear Lestrade sniggering behind him. John reaches Sherlock and gives a small shrug and after a second Sherlock smiles broadly at the look on both Donovan and Anderson’s faces. 

“So there is talk of an ear piece. Is there a bullet proof vest too?” John asks Lestrade. 

“Unfortunately no, to the vest. But you will have me and Lestrade close by all the time.” Sherlock answers. The DI is handing over two of the three ear comms to Sherlock and fitting himself with the third. Both John and Sherlock attach an ear piece and test out the connections. “Now John, our killer goes for a type.”

“Yup, I gathered that when you picked out my clothes.” John interjects. “Have to play a convincing part right?”

Sherlock blinks for a minute and is reminded that John is not as stupid as everyone else.   
“Yes, good. If he is going for a pattern, which I believe he is, then we need to make sure you’re up next.”

“Great” John rolls his eyes and the small knot of fear he had in his stomach growls at him. He had felt this fear before, when he was just on the verge of being in the line of fire. He swallowed hard to silence the rumbling he felt. 

“You can communicate to all the officers but Lestrade and I are the only two that can talk back to you. I want you to have no distractions. You will listen to me and only me and you will follow my instructions implicitly. Do you understand?” Sherlock is being unusually serious. When the game is afoot he is focused but fairly flippant about safety. 

‘Yes yes I understand. Implicitly Sherlock.” 

“Do you have your GPS locator?’ Lestrade breaks in. 

“Yes” John answers a little forcefully. His arm still hurt from the jabbing he received earlier that day. 

“Where is it?”

“In my arm” John glares at Sherlock while saying this but he can’t inflect any true anger at him. 

When all three men are set and ready they are the last three out the back of the shop, all the other officers are in their place. Lestrade heads off ahead of the other two and soon Sherlock will do the same leaving John alone. Sherlock regards his friend one more time before leaving him. “When you go in, find a place at the bar, have a drink, do whatever it is you do when you’re out at a pub trying to hook up. Don’t go doing anything impulsive or stupid.” 

“Right. You have no idea who we are looking for exactly do you?” 

“Not the exact person, no.” 

“Well can you help me out a little? What kind of behavior am I looking for? And you keep saying him. How do we know it’s a he?”

“Come now John, statistics show most serial killers are men, hence the ‘he’; this person will be charming and appear to be comfortable chatting up either sex. Observe John, the way they may focus all their attention on a physical type. I am hoping you stick out to him.” 

“Ok, well what if he doesn’t take the bait?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Why would he not?” he leans in a little closer and his smooth baritone drops so that only John can hear, not that there is anyone else around to listen any way. “I would.” 

John has only a moment to process this before he is being shaken by the shoulders. “Remember, observe and NO heroics!”

Sherlock has released his grip and is striding away and down the sidewalk. John sighs and begins to head over to the entrance of one of the clubs they have staked out. Instantly he is assaulted with the loud music and dim lights. He hates these kinds of places. John makes his way over to the bar and flags the bartender and thinks of ordering a pint but thinks better. ‘He has a type, what would that type drink?’ John opted for a dry martini instead and as he took the first sip he tried to suppress a grimace; he is going to regret this in the morning of for the liquor alone. 

“More of a beer man?” Sherlock’s voice was in John’s ear and he almost jumped out of his skin. He had forgotten for a moment that the ear piece was there. John smiled not knowing where to smile at but knowing Sherlock could see it. He moved away from the bar to find a vacant table along the perimeter of the dance floor and to start the stake out. After about 3 more drinks and 6 chat-ups John was getting bored. 

“Sherlock I think we may have missed the mark.” 

“You may be right. Let’s move to another one of the bars.”

John headed back over to the bar to pay his tab when he knew. While waiting on the bartender John was standing behind another man and John could over hear parts of his conversation with another rather attractive, blonde man. John couldn’t focus on the words but something in the timber of his voice and the way he moved his hands when he spoke, the moments he chose to laugh. John just knew. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was who they were looking for but every cell in his being buzzed with the truth. John had to move away from the bar before he said anything and stood for a moment like he was sending a text. 

“Sherlock, Lestrade; do you see the man at the bar that I was just next to? “ Lestrade answered.

“I just saw Sherlock head out to the street; I can’t see the bar from where I am any more. Give me a second and I’ll see if I can get a look. “

Before Lestrade could say anything else John saw the two men, his suspect and his victim, move away from the bar and toward the back. “They’re on the move; I don’t want to lose him.”

John started to follow, remembering everything Sherlock had taught him about following someone and not being seen. Before too long the two men were moving through the crowd on the floor and John had to weave his way through behind them. For a minute he lost sight of them. “Lestrade please tell me you see them.”

“I’m at the bar John, where are you?” 

“They moved away through the crowd and I may have lost them.” Just as John said this he saw them again in a dark corner headed for the back ally way door. “I see them; they are headed out the back door.” 

“I can’t see them.” 

John began to follow them again and it took longer than he wanted to snake across the floor to the door where they had exited. After another 10 minutes John finally had his hands on the door and shoved it open. He found himself in the back alley behind the club and the blonde man from the bar was slumped over against the wall.   
‘Oh God’ John rushed over to him and sat him up. “Lestrade, Sherlock! I have an injured man here; I lost the other guy, the one we wanted. Get a medic quick.” The blonde had a deep stab wound to his stomach and another to his chest. His breathing was very labored and he was fading fast. John tried to think of something to do to help him but he knew there would be no stopping the internal bleeding in time. He held the other man and tried to talk to him.

“It’s ok, there is a medic coming soon. You’ll be alright.” The other mans eyes grew wide and frantic and John thought it was because he was scared of dying. Before John could say anything else to him, he felt a sharp blade slide around his throat. 

“Well well,” a semi familiar voice. John knew who it was. “Get up.” The voice demanded. John stood slowly and lifted his hands out and away from him doing his best to be as unthreatening as possible. The man spoke again. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before the police were out for me in earnest but to send me a pretty thing like you is almost cruel.” John tried to turn around and face the man with the knife. “Don’t turn around!” It was almost a shriek. John stopped moving. 

“John, where are you?” Lestrade broke in to his thoughts. He couldn’t communicate just now though. He could try to play off that he wasn’t with the police and he didn’t know what the other man was talking about. 

“Come now, I see that small mind of yours working.” The man was soft spoken. “You’re going to try and tell me you aren’t working with the police. I’ve seen you around before, in the papers. You’re always with the detective; what’s his name? Oh yes, Holmes. You follow him around like a lost puppy; Sherlock Holmes and his little pet.”

With the last few words the man had drawn in close to John and was almost whispering in his ear with the knife still pressed into John’s neck. He could feel the cold blade biting at his skin and breaking it letting a small trickle of blood to the collar of his undershirt. The man had stepped back a bit. “Take off your shirt.” It was spoken as a simple demand but John didn’t move. “I said take it off!” The knife pressed harder and John began to undo the buttons of his shirt before sliding it off his shoulders and holding it by the collar in one hand. “Drop it.” The man ordered. John did as he was told. ‘Stupid! What did Sherlock say? No heroics. Sherlock where are you?”

“John! I can’t find you in the club. What happened?” Lestrade was still looking for him. John never told him he was headed out the back. “Sherlock, you better get back here, I can’t find John anywhere.”

John knew he was being looked for, he just had to bide his time, keep cool. 

“John,” Sherlock’s voice, “Can you say anything?” John didn’t respond. “I know you can hear me, don’t do anything stupid.” 

‘Easy for you to say.’ The killer reached over and yanked the ear piece out of John’s ear and smashed it under his heel. ‘I’m totally on my own now. Don’t blow it by getting killed. Don’t panic, you still have your locator.”

John switched into soldier mode as soon as he knew he would have to sort this out himself and before he could erect any sort of plan the other man was right behind him with his free hand under John’s arm and gripping his shoulder. The knife blade didn’t ease up any. “You look a lot like him you know.” Indicating the dead man on the ground. “I can see why you’re master let his little plaything out of his sight.” John stiffened and bristled. This, being called Sherlock’s pet and plaything, like he was owned by the taller, younger man did nothing to keep John’s head level. He clenched his fists and he could feel the rage knotting up his stomach. When others assumed he and Sherlock were ‘together’ he tried to fend that off but really only because he didn’t want to let on how much he kind of wanted that. Now he was being reduced to an object; something Sherlock could observe and deduce; pick apart, put back together, gather data on and as soon as he had done could discard or delete from his life altogether. John saw red. What did this man know of his life with Sherlock? Nothing! Not a DAMN thing. Before John knew what he was doing he had slammed the back of his head in to the killer’s nose breaking it. He could hear the anguished cry behind him and the knife slid across John’s throat slicing the skin a little but not deep enough to cause any real damage. John whirled around to find the killer clutching his nose and blood streaming from the injury. 

“You little FUCKER!” And he lunged for John with the knife he still held in his other hand. John ducked away and tried to grab the other man from behind in a choke hold but he couldn’t get a firm grip. The killer jabbed one of his elbows into John’s intercostals and knocked the wind from his lungs. John’s grip loosened and other man slipped from his grasp. John had fallen to his knees trying to fill his lungs when there was a swift kick to his side and he crumpled, the pain searing through his ribs on the right side. John rolled onto his back and could hear the killer running down the alley to get away. John wondered why he didn’t just try to kill him; why run. He could hear the siren of the ambulance in the distance. That’s right, he had called for one when he got to the alley. ‘Get Up! Don’t let him get away!’ John screamed to himself. He crawled up to his feet and could see the other man in the distance. John started to give chase but it was difficult to keep up with the bruise that was forming over his ribs. He shut out the pain and focused on running after their suspect. 

Sherlock had met back up with Lestrade outside of the club. “Where is he?” Sherlock demanded. 

“I don’t know. He was in the club and then he just vanished. I was talking to him for a minute and now he won’t respond.”

One of the other plain clothes officers came up to them. “I thought I saw him head out the back door of the club to the alley way, by the time I got there, there was a dead man on the pavement and he was gone.”

Sherlock broke away immediately and headed for the back alley. The ambulance was there assessing the killers third victim. Sherlock whisked past them with Lestrade and the other officer in tow and came upon John’s black shirt and his crushed ear piece. “Damn” he whispered under his breath. Lestrade came up a second later and saw what Sherlock saw. Sherlock could see a few drops of blood on the pavement in front of him; either the killer or John was injured to bleeding and Sherlock’s stomach twisted in fear and guilt. He tossed the shirt at Lestrade. “I need the catfish.” he said. 

“The what?”

“The catfish!” Sherlock yelled. Lestrade jumped back and Sherlock punched the bridge of his nose collecting himself. “John has the locator in his arm. We can still find where he is.” Lestrade nodded and moved off yelling for an officer to get him what he needed. Sherlock took a few moments to pray that John was alright and, if he was, to curse him for not listening when Sherlock said don’t be stupid. He paces around the scene trying to gather more information. Lestrade returned with the mobile device and Sherlock punched in the code for the chip in John’s arm. Soon a small red dot appeared on the screen. It was moving north of where they were standing in the alley and fairly fast. Sherlock could tell that it wasn’t moving fast enough to be in a car which means he probably wasn’t taken. He was on foot, most likely running. Sherlock took off after the little red dot, his mind racing. ‘He must be on foot. To slow for a car, not slow enough like he is being carried. He’s chasing.’ 

John could see the other man in front of him and the longer he ran the less he could feel his protesting body. His lungs burned with the need for oxygen and he couldn’t get enough. If he took a deep breath the pain in his ribs stopped him cold and he needed to keep this man in his sights. They had taken several turns through alley ways and along main roads and John wasn’t exactly sure where he was now. They couldn’t have gone too far. A broken and bleeding nose hurts pretty bad and can blur the vision making it hard to navigate, especially in an emergency, like fleeing the cops. John could hear the pounding of his blood in his ears making it hard to hear anything else. As the suspect was rounding another corner John was close behind him now. He grabbed the wall for stability and slung himself around the corner after the man. He was going to tackle him to the ground as soon as he was within arm’s reach. Instead what he found was the suspect lying prone on the ground and Sherlock punching him in the face repeatedly. 

“Sherlock!” John called and rushed over to pull the detective off the other man, who was unconscious now. Sherlock struggled trying to get back to the killer. 

“Sherlock Stop!” John shook him. Sherlock stopped fighting and looked at John. The breath he didn’t know he was holding came whooshing out of him as he stood face to face with John. 

“You’re alright!” Sherlock blinked and then he started to yell at John. “What were you thinking? I specifically said no heroics!” 

“Jesus Sherlock, I’m sorry.” John stepped back from his friend clearly upset. 

“You’re bleeding.” Sherlock schooled his face back to his typical, emotionless mask. 

“Yes I’m aware I’m bleeding; thank you for that.” John moved over to the wall of the building and slowly slumped to the ground wincing. Sherlock noticed the face he made and moved over to where John was now sitting. Sherlock lifted John’s chin to get a better look at the cut along his neck. It wasn’t as bad as the bleeding let on, it wouldn’t even need stitches. John was breathing shallowly to try to ease the pain in his side. Sherlock motioned for John to lift his arm and he pulled up the black undershirt. There was a large bruise blossoming purple across John’s middle ribs. Sherlock gingerly ran his fingers across the wound to feel for broken ribs. John hissed in pain but allowed the examination to continue. 

“I apologize for yelling at you. I was concerned for your safety.” Sherlock kept looking over John’s injury so he wouldn’t look him in the face; John nodded. 

“I’m sorry for making you worry.” John paused looking over at Sherlock. 

“What is it?”

“He called me your pet, your plaything.” John sneered at the man lying on the ground. 

“So?” Sherlock asked. John sniffed a little, the unconscious reflex to tears and Sherlock could see John’s eyes get red and glassy. John didn’t want to admit how much the comment had stung; how he was afraid it was true. Sherlock sighed and turned John’s face to look at him properly. A single tear escaped and slid down John’s cheek to his chin and Sherlock flicked it away. He knew what John was afraid of because he was afraid of the same thing.

“John,” he finally spoke, “you’re my best friend. Not my pet nor my plaything. My friend. My only friend. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” John nodded and swallowed the rest of his tears down. Sherlock stood and pulled his mobile from his pocket to dial Lestrade and tell him where they were. John stayed on the ground looking over at the unconscious man letting his fear slide away. John hadn’t been truly afraid of the man himself. He was just another killer, similar to all the others. His methods and reasons may have been different but his results were the same; to cause as much damages as possible to ease his own pain. No, John was not afraid of him but more afraid of what he had said. John hadn’t wanted it to be true and he was somewhat relieved when Sherlock had assuaged his fears. Now he just wanted to go home and sleep.

Sherlock had finished on the phone with Lestrade and came over to stand next to where John was sitting. He felt the need to be protective of his friend. He had been physically and emotionally tested and even though he would survive his injuries Sherlock stomach still flopped at the thought that this could have gone very badly. Soon, two police cars, followed by a medic arrived where the two were waiting. Lestrade go out of the first car and came immediately over to Sherlock and John while two other officers exited the second car. Lestrade turned to them and instructed the medics check him out and take him to the hospital. The officers nodded and motioned to the medical staff to begin examining the suspect. Lestrade turned back to Sherlock and John. 

“You two ok?” he asked. 

Sherlock nodded and then motioned to John, still on the ground. 

“We’re ok, I’m a little worse for wear but I’ll live.” John responded. He tried to get up but yelped in pain. Both Sherlock and Lestrade grabbed an arm to help hoist him to his feet. 

“I want you looked at before you go home.” Lestrade ordered and John was escorted to the ambulance to be looked over before being released. Sherlock would not let John out of his sight but he did allow the medical staff room to do their part. John was bandaged up and given the ok to head home but was told he should stay off his feet for a couple days to let the bruising on his side heal a bit. Sherlock finished with Lestrade and when John was done moved to his side. They slowly moved to the street and hailed a cab. Sherlock helping John ease into his seat and when they were back at Baker Street Sherlock helped John up the stairs. He wished John would just let him carry him instead of wincing through every step, but John was a soldier and if he couldn’t take a kick in the ribs. Sherlock just remained patient until John was on the couch. Sherlock hung up their coats and moved to the kitchen to make tea. He insisted to himself that he would take care of John until he could move a little easier. I was his fault John was like this anyway. Sherlock handed John his tea and sat on the couch next to him, he turned on the tele and set it to a station he knew John liked.

John didn’t say much but watched Sherlock do all of this with a little bit of surprise. Sherlock really did care about him and for him to yell at John the way he did he must really have been scared something had happened; otherwise why raise a fuss. John took the mug appreciatively and settled into his seat to watch TV with Sherlock close at hand. 

“Are you going to stay home for the next few days?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, I thought I would just see how I felt tomorrow morning but if it hurts this much to breath while sitting still then I can just imagine what it will feel like in a few hours.”

It was already late and as John relaxed into the couch he could feel himself fighting sleep. After a couple minutes John relinquished and let his eyes close. Sherlock noticed that John had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch, his head was tilted back and his mouth hung open a little. The cut on his neck looked ghastly in the dim light of the room but Sherlock knew it wasn’t that bad. He still didn’t like how John had been marked. ‘I should be the only one who gets to mark John. And it would never be so cruel!’ Sherlock sighed knowing it may never be like that. He flipped the tele off and took Johns tea mug to the sink with his own before heading upstairs. Instead of heading to his own room he goes into John’s pulling out a clean t-shirt, tossing it on the bed and pulling back the covers on the side John liked to sleep on. Sherlock headed back down to the sitting room to find John where he left him and Sherlock slowly lifted his friend off the couch in to his arms, minding the bruise on his side. John seemed so frail while he slept. When awake John’s eyes were always bright and attentive to Sherlock, watching and learning, or just being amazed at his intellect. But sleeping John had a whole other look, it was soft and vulnerable and Sherlock wanted to do nothing more at that moment but to hold John and wish John would hold him back. Sherlock moved up the stairs to John’s room, gently laying him on top of the covers he pulled his shoes and socks off, tossing the shoes into the closet and the socks on the bed. He then removed John’s jeans and emptied his pocket of keys, wallet, mobile piling it all on the night stand and adding the pants to the socks. Sherlock then pried the back t-shirt over John’s head and off of him. Sherlock figured it couldn’t hurt to leave John in just his boxers and tucked him under the covers. Sherlock added Johns robe and sleep pants to the clean t-shirt and figured John could use then when he woke. He piled John’s dirty clothes into the hamper, switched off the light and moved to the door. He paused in the door way looking over the doctor one last time. 

“Goodnight John,” Sherlock whispered.

“Goodnight Sherlock,” John mumbled back. Sherlock smiled and slipped out the room ,closing the door behind him. 

*******

John awoke the next morning feeling sore and stiff all over; looking at his clock it read 7:45. He had to get up for work. As he tried to sit up his side hurt more then he remembered it did yesterday. ‘Maybe I should stay home for a couple days. Sarah is going to kill me.” John reached for his mobile and noticed he had a text from Sarah.

Heard about your little tussle. Good job on getting the guy, hope you feel better soon and come back when you do.

John stared for a minute before shrugging and climbing out of bed. He noted he wasn’t wearing any clothes and he couldn’t really remember getting into bed in the first place. John slowly moved to the bathroom and prepared to shower. He remembered getting home and Sherlock looking after him. He wondered if Sherlock would be that way today too. Even if he was it didn’t mean anything. They were friends and he knew Sherlock didn’t want anything else. John’s shower took a little longer than normal due to moving slowly but eventually he was toweling off. He examined the cut in his throat. It was the first time he had actually seen it. It would heal and fade in time but it would leave a small scar on one side where the blade tip had nicked deeper than the rest. When John finished in the bathroom he moved back to the bedroom and grabbed a pair of boxers and slid into his sleep bottoms, t-shirt, and robe. He hadn’t remembered putting those there. He slowly descended the stairs to the sitting room and found Sherlock in the kitchen hovering over the stove stirring something. 

“Morning” John said, his voice still raspy with sleep. 

Sherlock looked over his shoulder to John, “Morning,” he said and pointed to the table. There was a hot mug of tea and breakfast. 

“Did you make me breakfast?” Sherlock nodded but didn’t say anything. “Thank you Sherlock.” John was impressed by the amount of attention Sherlock was paying him. “You know you didn’t have to.” John offered and Sherlock sighed before turning around to face him. 

“I know, I wanted to. I feel…well I’m not sure what I feel.” Sherlock was a little exasperated because he did have the advantage when it came to feelings. 

“It’s ok,” John could tell he was upsetting Sherlock. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I appreciate the gesture. Truly, thank you.”

Sherlock nodded again and went back to his stirring. John tucked in. He had never seen Sherlock cook before and it was quite good. After breakfast John slowly rose from the table and deposited his dishes in the sink for later cleaning, and moved into the sitting room. He decided he would blog last night’s events and slid into his arm chair; he started to type quickly recounting all the details of the capture of another criminal and the conclusion of another case. It didn’t take long for John to finish and he could tell this would be a droll few days off work. Normally he would relish the short respite before Sherlock’s bored state would kick in. But with a limiting injury there was not much he would be able to do. John turned to Sherlock but before he could even open his mouth to say anything Sherlock responded.

“I’m taking cold cases for a few days, just for something different.”

John was used to Sherlock being in his personal head space. He then remembered the text from Sarah and turned to ask about that but Sherlock beat him too it again.

“Yes I text Sarah last night after you were in bed and called off for you for the next week.”  
“Well, I guess that takes care of that then,” and John settled into his chair again and began to read the book he was working on. 

*******

The next several days passed calmly and quietly. Lestrade had come by to drop off some more cold cases and pick up the completed ones checking on John while he was there. Sarah also called to see how John was feeling. Otherwise it was just Sherlock and John. Some days were spent with no conversation at all and other days they would talk over some of the cases Sherlock was doing. John always took interest when Sherlock was working, even if it was a simple case that ranked low on the excitement scale; John loved watching Sherlock’s mind work. 

One night while they were watching tele and having Indian take away, Sherlock noticed John absentmindedly fingering the devise still in his arm. 

“I could take that out if you really wanted,” Sherlock offered. John was about to ask what he was talking about but he realized what he was doing. John looked down at his arm and smiled. 

“Nah, after recent events I think I’m ok with it. I’ve actually thought about putting one in you,” Both men smiled and laughed a little before settling back into the couch. 

The week was winding down and John’s ribs were feeling much better. He could move about without much pain even though the bruise was now a sickening yellow green. Lestrade had called to see if they wanted to meet him for a pint in celebration of John’s recovery and the closing of a particularly difficult case; John immediately accepted.

“I’m not going.” Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. 

“Why not?!” 

“I refuse to go out and drink, only to slow my mind and body, and have to deal with the idiotic drivel of polite conversation.” 

“Come on Sherlock! It’s only you, me ,and Greg!”

“Greg?” Sherlock lifted his eyebrows.

“Greg Lestrade” John indicated that Sherlock shouldn’t have to be told who that was. 

“Is that his first name?”

“Yes!” John was getting exasperated. “Are you going or not?” Sherlock looked like he was debating it. “They let you smoke in this pub.” John offered as an incentive, “And I will buy you a pack on the way there.” Sherlock eyed John closely before relenting.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“And you’ll behave. I’m not asking, I’m telling.” John sort of liked to pull his military rank attitude on Sherlock but he knew he could get away with it only so often. He tried not to over use it. 

That night Sherlock and John were preparing to go out to meet Lestrade for a drink. John was glad to be getting out of the house. He had enjoyed his days off not having to think about doing much but it was good to get some fresh air. The pub was close buy and John and Sherlock walked the few blocks, stopping to get Sherlock a pack of cigarettes just as John promised. John tried to dress similarly to the night of the chase, in the same jeans but this time in a red and white rugby jersey with brown leather shoes. Sherlock was in dark suit pants and jacket. Usually he wore these with his fitted purple shirt; this evening he opted for a similar teal blue. It looked bright against his skin and didn’t make him look so pale and clashed against his eyes in a striking way. It also make his ebony locks look darker than they really were. Soon they were at the door to the pub and quickly found Greg when they slipped inside. The DI hadn’t been there that long and was on his first pint when Sherlock and John slid into the booth. 

“I didn’t actually expect to see you here.” Greg motioned to Sherlock.

“Why not?”

“Not really you’re thing, mixing with us commoners outside of business.” Greg was poking fun at Sherlock and a little at himself too. Sherlock smiled and slid his coat off. Greg motioned for another pint for John and a rum and coke for Sherlock. 

As the evening wore on the three men seemed to have a great time just being in each other’s company. Sherlock didn’t talk much but was contented to sit and listen to John and Greg while he drank and smoked and the other two drank and laughed. Before they knew it, it was 2 am and the pub was closing. Sherlock had worked his way to his last cigarette and all three of them were comfortably tipsy. Greg bid them a good night outside and called a cab home. Sherlock refused to put out his last cigarette and so he and John were forced to stumble home, John still laughing about some part of the conversation and Sherlock simply taking joy in his friends’ happiness. Soon they were at the door of 221B and John fumbled with his keys to get the door unlocked and after a few moments of cursing the door lock and laughing they tumbled inside. John had had several pints but was used to alcohol and he wasn’t so bad off. Sherlock, on the other hand was not used to drinking at all; he generally didn’t like the way it slowed him down. He had only had two or three drinks all evening but was still buzzing a little. As he and John climbed the stairs John tripped a little and fell into the banister knocking his still bruised ribs. He laughed and hissed a little at the same time and Sherlock moved John to lean against the wall.

“Ow..really it’s not that bad. I’m ok.” John said as Sherlock fussed a little in his mild stupor. Sherlock got John to stand against the wall on the stairs and slowly lifted John’s shirt to reveal the offending injury. It was getting better but a hard knock could still hurt and John had managed to press all of his weight against it. Sherlock stroked John’s ribs, his fingers cool against his skin. John started to giggle a little.

“Sherlock…that tickles.” John was squirming a little. 

Due to the alcohol Sherlock’s normal inhibitions were lowered and he still couldn’t turn his brain off but he could ignore it better than normal. Without putting much thought into consequences Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John’s side gently. John stopped wiggling and his giggling turned to a soft moan but he didn’t fight the sensation. Sherlock kissed his side again lingering a little longer on John’s soft torso. He slid his other hand across John’s stomach and lightly grabbed John’s hip, slowly circling patterns onto the skin. “Sherlock,” John breathed out his name more than spoke it. John wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s arm and the other he placed on the back of Sherlock’s neck pulling him up to face him. They were very close and both John and Sherlock were breathing a little heavy. Sherlock searched John’s eyes for any indication that John was uncomfortable and he didn’t find it. Instead he found John’s eyes lust blown and searching Sherlock’s face for a reason to stop. John didn’t find it. In a split second Sherlock and John closed the scant distance between them and began to search the interior of each other’s mouths hungrily. John ran both his hands through Sherlock’s hair and though he was reticent to break the kiss he pulled on Sherlock’s hair and attacked Sherlock’s neck biting and sucking at the pale skin that lay before him. It was better than he had ever imagined. With every touch Sherlock pressed closer to him and John wanted to drink in every ounce of Sherlock he could get to. John nearly growled Sherlock’s name and the taller man gave a small whimper of desire in return. John could take it no more. He pushed Sherlock off, much to the other’s surprise, and pointed up the stairs. “Your room, NOW!” It was almost a barked order and Sherlock grabbed the front of John’s jersey and drug him up the stairs as fast as he could and quickly he decided John could pull rank any time. Once in the door to Sherlock’s room John was flung onto the bed and Sherlock slammed the door behind him before slinking back on top of John. He straddled John’s hips and took a moment to survey John lying on his bed under him. John’s eyes were half lidded and he was looking up at Sherlock hoping that he would continue what they had started. Sherlock shed his coat and jacket and threw them on the floor somewhere behind him before leaning over John and pinning his wrists to the bed. Sherlock kissed John again, hard and John did not resist, pushing back against Sherlock’s mouth, his hips rising a little. John wished Sherlock would release his hands so John could feel Sherlock’s cool skin against his palms and John moaned his discontent and started to try and free his hands. Sherlock simply gripped tighter and bit down a little on John’s collar bone marking John with his teeth. “Oh God Sherlock.” John cried Sherlock noted John’s lips were bruised and puffy from Sherlock’s assault and it only made him want to do more damage but he opted for something else. Sherlock sat up onto John’s hips. “Take your shirt off.” Johns scrambled and pulled his jersey over his head and threw it on the floor lying back down. Sherlock gasped at the expanse of tan, firm skin that lay exposed to him. Yes he had seen John shirtless but this was under different expectations. This time John wanted Sherlock to touch him, kiss him, leave no spot unexplored or ignored. Sherlock dove for John again and this time allowed John’s hands free and John made quick work of the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt; pulling it out of his trousers and laying it open. John ran his hands over Sherlock’s back and down to his ass grabbing it and holding Sherlock down while John trust up towards him. Sherlock groaned loudly and sucked in air between his teeth. This felt better then when he had fantasized about John so many weeks ago; Sherlock had no idea it could be this torrid, this frenzied. Sherlock leaned his head against John’s and they both breathed hard for a minute stilling all other motion. “John,” Sherlock whispered. “Sherlock,” John asked. John knew Sherlock needed something but his beer addled brain was telling him to do more. John had to ignore it. “John, will you sleep here with me tonight?” Sherlock looked tentatively at John; who slowly stroked a hand through Sherlock’s hair. “Of course I will.” John didn’t want to push Sherlock too much for fear of doing irreparable damage and he had wanted this for so long that he was loath to break it. Sherlock slid off of John and he was sorely missing the contact but Sherlock offered him his hand and pulled John up off the bed. They stood and looked at each other for a moment and Sherlock moved to open the door. John was confused when Sherlock exited the room but he came back after a moment with John’s pajamas and handed them over. John smiled and laid them down and began to dress for bed. Sherlock shut the door again and moved around to the other side of the bed and began to remove the rest of his clothes. Soon both men were prepared and they slid in under the covers, John on his side facing Sherlock and Sherlock on his stomach facing John. They both searched the other’s face and found only comforting expressions. The alcohol was surging through them and they both drifted off to sleep fairly soon. 

*******

Sun light streamed in through the window of Sherlock’s bedroom and John groaned at the intrusion to his sleep. He blinked, rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. He blinked some more and for a brief moment he wasn’t sure where he was, and then he remembered. John smiled and ran a few fingers over his neck and could still feel where Sherlock had put his teeth. It sent shivers down John’s spine. He turned onto his other side and propped himself up on to his elbow and looked at Sherlock, who was still sleeping. He brushed the dark hair out of Sherlock’s eyes and watched him breath easily. A few minutes passed and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and stared at John. 

“Good morning.” John said lightly. 

Sherlock just blinked, like he didn’t believe he was awake. A frown crept over his face and John noticed immediately that his friend did not look as happy has he had hoped he would. Sherlock pushed off his stomach and sat up on his knees next to John, who also pushed up and sat cross legged looking at Sherlock. 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked with a matter of fact tone.

“Excuse me?” John furrowed his brow. 

“I said what are you doing here, in my room, in my bed?” Sherlock was very agitated.

“Are you kidding me?” How could Sherlock not remember. Sherlock remembered everything! 

“John, get out of my room.” Sherlock pointed to the door expecting John to immediately obey. John didn’t move but instead looked angrily at his flat mate. 

“GET OUT!!!” Sherlock yelled and John jumped off the bed and slung the door open. He was almost out the door before he stopped, turned and gathered his clothes from last night and stormed across the hall to his room and slamming the door behind him. 

‘How could you have been so stupid as to let that happen. How did you think he was going to respond? That’s it, you have to leave. He won’t want you here now. And you can’t survive trying to act like nothing happened. You’ve had a taste and if you don’t get it now you’ll be crushed.”John threw his clothes into the hamper and leaned against his door for a second collecting himself. He didn’t have to go to work today but he was dreading being in the flat with Sherlock all day and he didn’t want to be the one that waited around for Sherlock to get back from where ever he may hide. John didn’t know what he was going to do. 221B had become his home and Sherlock was his best mate. Now he was alone again and he could feel the depression and the twinge in his leg creep over him. He swallowed hard and moved to the bathroom and turned on the shower. 

Sherlock was furious. John knew he didn’t want him in his room while he was sleeping. He knew John had lied the first time it had happened but he didn’t press; but this was different. John had the audacity to wait until he had woken to find him in his bed. ‘Didn’t you want John? You’ve been distracted for weeks on end thinking about him. Why did you throw him out?’ It didn’t matter if he had wanted it. He didn’t ask for it, he had not invited John in but there he was looking like he belonged. Sherlock rose from the bed, and still in his sleeping clothes marched across the hall to John’s room. He could hear the pipes rattle as the shower was turned on but he didn’t care. His head hurt a little and he figured it was from the drinking last night, he could still ignore parts of his brain that would tell him to let it go. It was unimportant. Of course it was important! The person he trusted most had violated his space. Sherlock flung the door to John’s room open and didn’t find him in sight. ‘He must be in the bathroom already.’ Sherlock moved across the room and was about to enter the bathroom when he heard a small sound through the opening on the door over the water. John was crying. Sobbing really but was trying hard to keep it quiet. Sherlock stopped cold in his tracks and the anger he felt melted away instantly. Sherlock, for the first time, felt like he knew what real pain was. It was worse than the teasing and name calling, worse than being bored, worse than his cocaine withdrawals in rehab. Sherlock’s heart broke at the sound of John weeping. Sherlock moved away from the bathroom door and crept out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him and holding his chest. He didn’t know what to do and he felt sick. He slowly migrated to the sitting room and sat in his chair, pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes. After 20 minutes or so he could hear the water being turned off and knew in about another 30, John would be making his way down stairs. Sherlock waited, listening. Soon the slow shuffle of John’s steps could be heard and Sherlock opened his eyes and watched the entryway. John came into view and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. John didn’t move to the kitchen to make tea, instead he began to fill his pockets and move back toward the door. John almost left without regarding Sherlock at all and Sherlock unfolded himself from his chair. John caught the movement and stopped, not turning around. 

“I’ll be picking up a few boxes today so I can move out over the next few days. I hope you can tolerate that.” John said coldly. Sherlock shivered. He had never heard John sound like that to anyone. 

“Why?” Sherlock spoke quietly. John turned around and looked at Sherlock incredulously. The look on Sherlock’s face was pure, unadulterated curiosity. John didn’t respond at first and Sherlock just stood there waiting for an answer and never looking away from John. If he had John would have just left without saying anything else. 

“Why? Really Sherlock!? You’re a smart man. Deduce why!” John was very angry. 

“It’s not because I threw you out of my room is it? You know how I am about people in my room while I sleep.” 

“That may be part of it yeah.” John turned to face Sherlock fully, crossing his arms but not moving from the doorway. 

“John,” Sherlock looked almost meek. “Please don’t move out.” The statement caught John off guard. Based on the anger Sherlock had used just an hour ago he would have assumed that moving out as soon as possible would be what Sherlock would want. Something had changed though. The furrows in John’s forehead relaxed a little and he stepped further in to the room. Sherlock just stood there fidgeting with his robe and never looking away. John looked at him; really looked at him and applied all he knew that Sherlock had been trying to teach him about reading people. He closed his eyes and breathed a calming breath and looked back at Sherlock.

‘Cowed look, meek requests, no demands, anger gone, and fidgeting like he’s nervous. Why is he not angry and why is he asking me to stay?’ John’s eyes got wide. Sherlock must have heard him crying. How? He had been in the shower. It doesn’t matter, Sherlock always knows. 

Taking another step towards Sherlock John sighed and pinched his nose. A thought occurred to him and he had to confirm it to be sure before he made any real decision. John emptied his pockets and hung his coat back up; Sherlock didn’t relax. He kept his eyes on John while he moved to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil and began preparing two mugs of tea. Sherlock still just stood there. John looked over and saw Sherlock still standing and watching him. He pointed to the couch, “Sit.” Sherlock moved quickly over to the couch and sat on the middle cushion, back ramrod straight, knees together and hands on top, fingers drumming nervously. He didn’t want John to leave and he was verging on desperate to make sure John didn’t feel the need to go. After another couple minutes John came around the corner of the kitchen with two mugs and handing one to Sherlock. Sherlock took it and looked up at John. John did not sit next to him on the couch but instead on the coffee table right across from him. John sighed and took a drink of his tea; Sherlock just sat there and watched him. John finally looked up and saw the same pleading look on Sherlock’s face, ‘please don’t leave me’ it said. John moved a hand up to the collar of his shirt and exposed the spot Sherlock bit; it was still angry and red. Sherlock leaned in to look at it closely and reached out to touch it but John moved away a little. Sherlock retracted his hand and looked at John’s face. John knew he wanted to collect data so he nodded and Sherlock moved back in to take a closer look. It was a fresh injury, angry but not done hard enough to draw blood, just to mark and bruise a little. Sherlock ran his fingers over it carefully, not wanting to hurt John. John waited patiently while Sherlock examined it waiting for the dawning realization of what it was to come to his friend. After a   
few moments Sherlock moved back to his original position and John let his shirt cover his collar bone again. 

“It looks like a bite mark.”

“It is”

“When did you get it?”

“Last night, after the bar and before this morning.”

Sherlock looked puzzled. “How did you get it?”

“More like who gave it to me.” John took a long drink of tea and looked over the rim of his mug at Sherlock. 

“Ok,” Sherlock didn’t really see the difference in the two questions. Either would provide a similar answer . “Who gave it to you?” John looked pointedly at Sherlock and for a moment Sherlock didn’t follow. “Think.” John said holding Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as he caught on the what John was implying.

“John, really? Why would I bite you?” 

“Think really hard about all the reasons you would bite a person.” 

“John, I’m not prone to random acts of violence.”

“You sure,” John started to smile as his theory was being confirmed. ‘Maybe it’s not so bad. If he doesn’t remember…However if you tell him it may go back to being bad. Too late now.’ “You did throw me out of your room in a fit of rage this morning.”  
Sherlock regained his cowed expression. John nodded knowing Sherlock was trying to say he was sorry. John had forgiven him. 

“So you really don’t know why I was in your room?” 

Sherlock shook his head. “Did I give you that,” pointing at John’s neck, “while you were in my room?” 

John nodded and Sherlock looked even more confused. “Would you like me to tell you why I was in your room and why you bit me?” John quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock who swallowed and nodded. 

John sighed, “IF I tell you, you are not allowed to be mad at me as I was operating under the assumption that I had your permission for anything that happened. You did not say no or ask me to stop at any point. If I had known that three rum and cokes would ultimately result in you not remembering what happened I would have made different choices. Understood?” John was pulling rank again but he needed to be sure Sherlock understood and agreed to the terms before John divulged his information. Sherlock nodded. 

“Tell me exactly what you remember so I know where to pick up.” John asked and Sherlock closed his eyes to go back over last night’s events. 

“I remember the bar, and Greg, I remember smoking a whole pack and I was smoking my last one when we left the bar. We walked home because I wouldn’t put it out although I should have. I remember being on the stairs and you tripped hitting your side against the banister and I remember looking it over to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. I remember you telling me you were ticklish on your side when I was touching you. I don’t remember much after that. Then I woke up with you in my bed.” 

“Apparently you deleted all the good stuff, I should feel offended but I don’t.” John held onto his mug to stabilize his hands. He figured a straight forward accounting of the facts without frills would be best. “Well, on the stairs you started to kiss my side where I am bruised, and then I kissed you and you kissed back. I may have pulled your hair and started kissing down your neck and you seemed to enjoy it so I kept going. There was general appreciation on either side. I ordered us to your room and you all but dragged me and flung me onto your bed before sitting on top of me.” Sherlock just sat there absorbing but not responding. John continued, “You told me to take my shirt off so I did and you pinned my wrists to the bed and kissed me some more and then you worked your way down to my neck. I wanted my hands free so I could touch you too.” At this John’s voice faltered a little but he pressed forward. “I tried to struggle my hands free and that is when I believe you bit me. I may have yelled your name and bucked into you a little. I can’t remember exactly. You finally loosed my hands and I basically stripped you of your shirt and held your hips down while I ground up into you.” John was scratching his head now. “After that you asked me to sleep in your bed with you. I said I would and you went to my room to get my pajamas and then we dressed for bed and went to sleep.” John finished and looked at Sherlock. His face hadn’t changed in the whole recounting. Sherlock’s eyes flickered to the spot on John’s neck and then back up to John. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat but he didn’t say anything. After a moment he rose and moved to go upstairs. John just watched as Sherlock moved away from him. 

“Sherlock?” John was worried that he may have shoved things back in to very not good. Sherlock just kept moving and when he reached his room he closed the door behind him and just stood there. John was coming up the stairs after him paused when he saw the door shut. Sherlock could hear John on the outside of the door.  
“Sherlock? Come out please. You promised not to be mad at me.” 

“One moment John” Sherlock calls through the door. He looks around the room taking it all in. His coat and jacket are on the floor crumpled against the wall the sheets are all off kilter, more so then two people just sleeping. He could remember where John’s clothes were when he had picked them up as he exited that morning. Shirt was across the room having been tossed but pants and socks were in a neat pile like they had been shed under normal circumstances. John had been telling the truth. Sherlock knew that but biting people…Sherlock looked over to the bed and could imagine how they had been positioned. ‘If Sherlock was on top, john was on his back. Coat over there so facing that way and then pinning John’s arms over his head and then…biting him.’ Sherlock could not wrap his brain around the bite mark but there it was clear to see on John’s skin. Sherlock sat down on the bed and thought about what John had told him. Sherlock had come full on to his flat mate while under the influence. Ugggg….how cliché! Sherlock could hear John move away from the door and panicked. He grabbed his phone and sent a text. 

You’re not leaving are you? SH

No, I’m not leaving. JW

Good. SH

John sat in the living room and looked up at the ceiling imagining Sherlock trying to wrap his brain around what he had just been told. He had relaxed a little since it was apparent Sherlock did not in fact want him to move out. John simply sat and read his book. 

Several hours later Sherlock still had not come down but John was hesitant to rouse him from whatever he had been doing. It was late in the afternoon and John had been feeling cooped up in the flat for most of the day and decided to go for a walk to stretch his legs. He rose from his chair and started to collect his wallet and keys and he began to head down the stairs. He paused for a moment at the spot on the banister where he had tripped and the whole mess had started, running his fingers lightly over the wood. He wasn’t sure if he should say thank you to whatever god existed for allowing even the briefest moment of bliss or to curse the same god for the torture he was now in. He let the thought slip from his mind thinking it could be a lot worse and he would bide his time on thanks or curses. Thinking of his flat mate and the text he had gotten at just moving downstairs, he pulled out his phone and quickly tapped out a message and hit send. 

Going for a walk and I will be back soon. JW

His phone didn’t get a response and he finished down the stairs and out the door. The air was cool and John was glad he’d grabbed his jacket. He headed off toward the closest park and decided he would take a couple rounds there before heading home; he may even stop for some groceries. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock was still sitting on his bed thinking. His phone dinged and he glanced over John’s message. Listening, he could hear the outer door shut and relaxed a little knowing John was out for a while. Sherlock had been afraid to move from his spot. He had been trying to recall the details of what John had described here. After letting the effects of the alcohol and the shock of the morning wear off Sherlock could think logically again. He knew perfectly well John wouldn’t be there in the bed unless there were mitigating circumstances: Sherlock being ill or injured or John being asked to be there. Sherlock hated that he couldn’t remember; this was why he didn’t drink. Since John was out he felt comfortable to get up and pace knowing John wouldn’t misunderstand the reason for his pacing. He decided to re-enact what John had told him happened but to do that he would have to go out to the stairs where he last remembered being. Sherlock exited his room and was soon on the stairs facing up; this he remembered. John was slightly in front of him and had caught his shoe on the lip of the step and pitched forward catching himself on the railing but still slamming his side against the banister. Sherlock had worried a little knowing the bruise would still be painful and moved John to stand against the wall. Sherlock could see John leaning there in his mind’s eye as he tried to remember. Sherlock had remembered lifting John’s shirt and stroking his side checking for more injury and finding none. John had started laughing, something about being ticklish. Sherlock closed his eyes tight forcing himself to try and see every detail. Like observing his own memory looking for clues to lead him to the next step. Sherlock kept his eyes closed and physically leaned over to about the height of John’s ribs and moved his hands over the imaginary flesh. Sherlock’s skin reacted in an unusual way and Sherlock shivered. John said he had leaned in to kiss his side and Sherlock tried to imagine what that would feel like. John’s skin would feel warm to him and be soft. He could hear how John might still and moan a little. Sherlock felt he might have slipped into another fantasy about his best friend but this had apparently happened and Sherlock hated he could not truly relive it but had to push his brain to access where he had stored the memory and recall it. Sherlock stood remembering slightly, with John’s help even though he had left out many details. Sherlock imagined what it would have been like to be so close to John in the dark of the stairs. There was no emergency this time, no accidental fall to blame it on. Just John and Sherlock. Sherlock ran one hand through his tangled curls, imagining it was John’s hand and the other he let trail down his neck feeling the soft dry lips move across his skin. Sherlock sighed and moved back up the stairs to his room and again closed the door behind him. He stares at his bed and can imagine John laying prone and wanting on the sheets and Sherlock mounted the bed with his knees apart seeing John look into his face. Sherlock was aware that while he had been imagining the details to John’s dry rendition of last night he had become slightly hard. Sherlock kneeled there and thought over John’s words with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. He had pinned John down and in his mind’s eye he attacked John’s mouth and neck. He smirked as he thought about John trying to release himself from Sherlock’s grasp and under the right mental state Sherlock would bite for control without letting John’s hands go. His cock stiffened as he imagined the look on John’s face with the bite; wide eyes and hands straining to grab and feel. Sherlock growled in frustration, he was imagining but couldn’t actually remember and he felt it was a little unfair that John could. Sherlock shucked his clothes and headed for the shower. It had worked the last time and he figured it would this time too, turning on the shower as hot has he could stand it and stepping into the stall. He closed his eyes and let the hot water weigh his hair down and into his face before brushing it aside. He leaned against the cold shower wall and relished the sharp temperature extremes. He licked his lips trying to remember the taste of John and his stiff erection jumped a little. Sherlock incorporated parts of last night with his previous fantasy and sighed letting the sensations of John’s fingers slide over him. He leaned his head back and trailed his fingers down his neck again and allowed himself to feel John’s lips over his skin. Sherlock was losing patience with his lack of memory and his inexperience. He wrapped his hand around his growing member and slid his palm up and down increasing and decreasing the pressure applied by his slim fingers. He tried to imagine the part where John had held him down and pushed his hips into Sherlock. He groaned and arched his back off the wall moving his hand faster feeling the warm pool in his gut and his stomach clinch. He didn’t want to go so soon this time; he wanted to hold on to the feeling of broad shoulders and firm skin against his but his body betrayed him and soon he shouted John’s name loudly and came over his hand leaning heavily against the wall again. Sherlock breathed heavily and while he felt good he did not feel better. He had treated John horribly that morning and it was evident that he wanted John badly. And if what happened was any indication John wanted him too. ‘It could be that we were both just a little drunk and that is all.’ No. If that had been the case John could have just said he passed out and instead he told him everything. And they weren’t that drunk, just enough to through caution to the wind and act on desire and not on propriety. Sherlock toweled off and pulled a clean t-shirt and sleep pants on and lay back down on his bed. Sherlock grabbed the pillow John had been sleeping on and curled around it; he could still smell the faint scent of John on it. He had to figure out how to proceed. 

John had been around the park several times now, lost in his own thoughts and soon realized his stomach was protesting loudly and it was approaching dark. He headed out of the park and towards Baker Street, stopping long enough to pick up milk, because they were always out, beer, and decided some take away would be a good idea. Soon enough John was walking through the door of the flat and into the sitting room and found Sherlock not around. He put the take away and beer on the coffee table and the milk in the fridge, pulled out his phone and sent a short text. 

You in? JW

Yes. SH The reply came seconds after the initial text.

I have take away if you’re hungry. Please come down. JW

John heard Sherlock shuffle begin down the stairs. John knew Sherlock would definitively not want a beer so John went to the kitchen to start tea for him. Sherlock came into the sitting room and looked over the coffee table. 

“Haven’t you had enough of that for a while.” Sherlock’s voice had an odd quality about it. John couldn’t place it. It was a mix of accusation and frivolous. 

“I figured I’d have just one with dinner. You’re more than welcome to join me but I figured that you didn’t so I’m making you tea.” There was a short pause before Sherlock spoke again. 

“I think I will have one.” 

John nearly spilled hot water on himself and peered around the kitchen to the other man. “Really? I figured you would want to stay away from the stuff for the rest of your natural life.” Sherlock shrugged and removed two bottles from the pack, pacing them on the table and took the rest to the kitchen and put them in the fridge. John just watched the slender figure move closer to retrieve silverware from the drawer. John was afraid to make any sudden movements. If he did he would either attack Sherlock’s face or run away and all John really wanted was to move past the awkward. Sherlock put a hand on John’s shoulder and gently pushed him out of the kitchen to the couch. John flinched a little not expecting the touch. 

Sherlock noticed the reaction in his friend and felt worse than before and remembered the aching in his chest at hearing John crying. 

“John?”

“Um..yeah?” 

“You don’t have to be on egg shells around me.”

“I’m sorry Sherlock.” John looked at the ground and sighed. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable again. I feel a little bad about this morning. “ 

“I do too. “ Sherlock sat on the couch and John slid down next to his friend and they dug into dinner. Neither man turned the TV on enjoying the silence. John kept glancing over to Sherlock, not looking for a long time and he shifted in his seat as if trying to decide something.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

John gave a wry smile. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock noticed. “It can wait.” John didn’t want to spoil the calm that had begun to settle back over 221B Baker Street. 

*******

Neither John nor Sherlock brought up the night after the bar and life went on just has normal as it could be. John had to make up time at the clinic as his bank account was getting thin and Sherlock finished up the cold cases and was slowly getting back to being bored. On more than one occasion John had come home just in time to pull the gun out of Sherlock’s hands before he put more bullets in the wall. The detective had taken the odd small case at John’s insistence so Sherlock wouldn’t completely destroy the flat but he kept complaining that they were not interesting enough.

“Joooohnnn” Sherlock whined.

“What?”

“I’m bored!” There was a clear note of exasperation in the detective’s voice. John sighed and put the paper down and looked over at Sherlock who was sprawled out over the couch, legs dangling over the armrest, one hand brushing the ground and the other draped over his eyes. Part of Sherlock’s shirt had ridden up his torso and John could see the crest of his bony hip jutting out like it was trying to escape his skin. John could also watch Sherlock’s mouth; the cupid bow of his lips slightly pouting. “I can feel my brain deteriorating.” John just sat there. It had been an early morning at the clinic and even though he had the rest of the evening to relax there was a petulant, whining, sexy, detective to deal with. John shook his head and placed his hands over his face to keep Sherlock from reading too much in the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. Even though it had been weeks since the night out and it had never been spoken of again, John still had the middle-of-the-day and the I’m-so-frustrated-it-will-help-me-sleep fantasies and toss off to Sherlock. He just made sure he was so discreet he could put the Queen to shame. 

“Well, why don’t you compose something?” 

“I can only do that when I’m thinking.”

“Ok, what about a game.” 

“Most games are too simple.”

“What about a hard game, like chess.”  
“Dull”

“Ok…” John thought for a moment. “Backgammon”

“Like chess but earlier….and still dull.”

John tossed his hands up in desperation and blurts the first thing that comes to him. “I don’t know Sherlock…Truth or Dare!” Sherlock sits straight up and looks at John. John has a surprised look on his face and has clamped his mouth shut with his hands. Several naughty dares flash through John’s head at the mere mention of the game. ‘I can NOT believe you suggested that! Wait….why would Sherlock even want to play? He could deduce everything he wanted to know without using Truth at all.’ Still, Sherlock could be devious when it came to Dare. John lowered his hands and tried for all he was worth to look natural and go back to his paper. Sherlock flopped back down on the couch and draped his arm over his face again. 

“John?”

“Hmmm”

“Truth or Dare?”

“What?”

“Pick one: Truth or Dare.”

“Are you seriously going to play that game. Honestly Sherlock, you could easily know everything you wanted just by looking, voiding half the game for you. I’m not even sure what possessed me to suggest it.”

“No matter: Truth or Dare?”

John sighed and weighed his options. Truth: he could be asked something totally asinine and embarrassing or just a small tidbit. Dare: have to do something totally asinine or embarrassing. At least with truth he could stay in the chair and hide behind the newspaper. “Truth” John spoke at last.

“Cop out” Sherlock said. 

“Well, you said pick one and I’m not quite up for lapping the flat naked just yet.” 

Sherlock eyed John for a second. 

“It was an example” John defending his thought process. 

“Very well,” Sherlock relaxed into the couch again thinking of something he wanted to know about John that he could not deduce himself. It was difficult; they had been flat mates for almost a year and a half now and Sherlock was pretty sure he knew all there was to know about John. Well, there was other stuff he wanted to know but he figured hitting those questions right out the gate would stop the game before it even got started.   
“What is your earliest childhood memory?” This was rather tame but it was something Sherlock couldn’t simply know by observing so there was some level of curiosity. John rustled the paper back down and thought for a second. He could remember his first day of school, only because it was mildly traumatic; but he could also remember a particular birthday where his mum and dad had taken them out to a circus. It had been really great and John had an excellent time until his parents started to fight about something. It was probably stupid, it always was, and his dad was not particularly happy to be there because he couldn’t keep drinking. John’s father was never the nicest man drunk and worse when forced to be sober. John could remember his father grabbing his mum and shaking her and John had been so angry that he rushed over and grabbed one of his father’s large arms and tried to pull him off of her. Instead he got a face full of the back of his father’s hand and it threw him to the ground with a split lip. He didn’t bother to remember the rest of the day. Sherlock was immediately sorry he had asked about John’s childhood. He had figured his relationship with his parents wasn’t close because he never really talked about them; his only blood family being Harry and she was a drunk too. John face was a little paler, less open and caring after retelling the story to Sherlock. ‘Maybe this was a really bad idea.’ John thought to himself but he decided to keep playing anyway. 

“Alright Sherlock, my turn, Truth or Dare?”

“Truth”

“Who’s copping out now?” John smirked a little. “This is a multi part question only because the question I really want to ask is dependent on another piece of information.” 

“Ok, go for it” 

“Are your parents still alive?”

“My mother is.”

“Ok, why don’t you ever go to see her?”

“Oh John, my family is full of twittering, gossiping, over stuffed, self important, imbeciles who have nothing better to do then make money, cheat on their spouses, and try to set up the single one like me and Mycroft. It is absolutely mind numbing to try to spend any length of time over 2 minutes with any of them.” 

“Ah, so seeing your mum for Christmas is out then.” John had to try to suppress a laugh.

“Quite.” Sherlock smiled broadly knowing he wasn’t the only one with a twisted lack of familial responsibility. “Truth or Dare?”

John was feeling slightly brave. “Dare, but please go easy on me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt ok making an ass out of myself on purpose.”

Sherlock pressed his fingers together in thought. “I dare you to do your best impression of me”

“Really? And what is the consequence if I don’t agree to that?”

“Lapping the flat naked” Sherlock quirked the corner of his mouth up using John’s bad example against him. John groans and hoists himself out of the chair. 

“Alright.” John begins to exit the sitting room and head upstairs and Sherlock props himself up on his elbows watching the entryway. Soon John returned dressed in one of his nicer full suits, pulled on Sherlock’s coat and scarf from the pegs and sauntered over to where Sherlock was lounging on the couch. He leaned over and looked Sherlock intently in the face and started to speak an affected voice.

“You slept sideways on your bed with your feet hanging off the right side, you didn’t brush your teeth when you got up, you haven’t showered yet today nor have you bothered to put on any decent clothes.” John stood up straight and kept looking at Sherlock trying not to break character. Sherlock couldn’t understand at first why John was simply stating the obvious but soon he caught on that everything was obvious to him and he started to shake with laughter. John continued, “You prefer to smoke but it is impossible to keep up a smoking habit in London so you use nicotine patches, three or four at a time. You despise small minded, idiotic people. Also my ego is amazing.” John had moved to looking at the wall while he spoke and had returned to look at Sherlock who had both hands over his mouth and looked fit to burst. John’s smile dropped and he feared he had offended Sherlock; but at that moment Sherlock lost all control and started to laugh out loud. It was one of the most genuine sounds John thought he had ever heard him make. John peeled off the coat and scarf, hanging them back on their peg and slid out of his suit jacket, draping it across the back of his arm chair and falling into it again. The game went on for another couple of hours, both men switching between revealing things to the other or engaging in acts of foolishness which resulted in more fits of laughter. John was glad to see he had successfully distracted Sherlock from his impending mental self destruction. 

*******

Sherlock had decided weeks ago that he wanted to relive the night after the bar with John. He knew he had over reacted that morning and he also knew that because of said reaction he may have pushed John away. Sherlock had used the passing days to do some intense observations of John, finding the results of his observations favorable. Sherlock would note how John’s lips parted and his eyes would dilate when Sherlock would wear only a sheet. Or how still John would become when Sherlock would lie down on the couch while they watched TV and push his toes under John’s leg. Often Sherlock could see John just watching him when he thought Sherlock didn’t notice. Sherlock would brush fingers with John when being handed his tea and John’s breath would hitch. There was even one time that Sherlock managed to catch John wanking in the shower. It was about a week and a half after the game of Truth or Dare; Sherlock leaned against the wall outside John’s bathroom and listened to the small and intense noises John was making. Sherlock had also been utilizing all of the reconnaissance he had collected to foster his own continuing fascination with John’s anatomy and Sherlock was increasingly frustrated by not having the real thing, which was so close and still not within reach. As such, on this particular occasion of John in the shower, Sherlock’s plans were almost undone completely. Sherlock closed his eyes and could see John in the shower letting the hot water roll off of his shoulders and down the dip in his lower back. Sherlock noted his own pulse quickening and his breathing become shallow. ‘Keep your head. If John catches you here he will be so angry with you.’ John’s noises had become more intense and needy; almost pleading and Sherlock could hear John moan part of his name. Sherlock nearly came undone on the other side of the door at the sound of the ex Army doctor tossing off to his name. Sherlock let his eyes drift closed again he relaxed against the wall letting the sound of John’s harsh whispers of “Oh Sherlock” and “God yes” wash over him. Sherlock’s skin would get goose bumps and he couldn’t resist running his fingers over his stomach. John’s keening came floating over the slap of the water against the shower walls and floor and it became ever more urgent. Sherlock was lost in the sound of John’s ecstasy and wished he could be the one to actually bring John to fruition. Well, when he thought about it he kind of was, John was moaning his name. John’s pleas became even more loud and Sherlock couldn’t remember having heard John be so vocal about it before. He figured John to be the super discreet type, even if he wasn’t trying to be extra careful to hide if from Sherlock. John was making more grunts and pants then actual words and Sherlock shivered and slid his own hand down the front of his sleep pants to palm his own leaking hard on. He was surprised to find how much just the sound of John aroused him. He gave a few full tugs and he was far more sensitive than he had been on previous occasions. Even though he was relatively new to masturbating, he had done it several times since that first experience in the shower and had become far more comfortable with the flood of tactile sensations that caused his mind to go slightly fuzzy. he gave a few more long strokes while John provided more vocal stimulation , unaware of what was happening just outside. Sherlock sucked air between his teeth and leaned his head against the wall trying to not make a sound to give him away. He clawed at his stomach with his free hand had his hips pushed up into his fist. He was almost gone when he heard it. “Oh Sherlock!!” The tall man, hand still wrapped around his own arousal jumped at the sound of his name laced with need and dripping thick with desire and satiety. John had just released and Sherlock was standing there with is hand down his pants listening. After too short a time John turned the water off and Sherlock knew if he didn’t move in the next 30 seconds he would have no explanation as to why he was there listening to John toss off. Yanking his hand out of his pants and his erection bobbing painfully Sherlock almost ran from the room and down the stairs to the living room throwing himself onto the couch face down. Only then did he let himself breathe easy and will his erection away and soon he was grinning wanly into the couch cushion. Observation was over and now was time to plan. 

John soon padded down to the sitting room to find Sherlock face down on the couch, limbs sprawled. 

“No cases yet?”

“MMMmmmmm”

“I’m sure something will come up. I have to head to the clinic. Shall I get dinner on the way home?” Sherlock nodded emphatically without lifting his head from the couch. “Alright, what should it be?” Sherlock didn’t move. “Indian?” Nothing. “Chinese.” Still nothing. “Pizza?” and more nothing. “Sherlock I don’t have time to go through every option. Text me when you know what you want ok?” Sherlock nodded again. John headed out the door and Sherlock could hear the outer door lock. He jumped up and began to pace around the flat. How do to it? How could he get John to let go and admit that he wanted Sherlock? He could be blunt about it and ask John but John would deny it even though both of them knew John would be lying. He was too attached to his current sexual identity and until he accepted Sherlock then he wouldn’t accept an alternative label. He would have to be crafty about this; corner John without making him feel cornered. Sherlock began to drum his fingers against his chin and thought. Suddenly it struck him. Truth or Dare! It was brilliant. Both he and John had shared new details about themselves and had deepened an aspect of their, currently, platonic friendship. What better way than to ease John into reveal details of his feeling for Sherlock then under the guise of a game? Sherlock nodded several times cementing the idea firmly in his head and storing it away for the right time. He may not get to employ it for several more days or even weeks. And if a case came up then it may be a couple months before Sherlock found the right moment, but he could be a patient man. Sherlock sauntered over to his violin and began to play a light and playful tune that matched his mood. 

As fate would have it Sherlock got the opportunity to do some more digging that night when John got home. Sherlock had been prodding a liver on the kitchen table when John came in carrying a large pizza box from the place a block away. 

“I guess we aren’t using the table for a while are we?” 

“This experiment is very delicate and I can’t replicate the environment at the morgue so, yes, we will not be using the table for the next few weeks.”

John shrugged and moved over to the coffee table and set the box down, removing his jacket and emptying his pockets. He escaped to his room long enough to change and bounded back downstairs ready to dig in and vedge out for a couple of hours before bed. Sherlock moved to the couch and sagged into the cushions before flipping open the pizza box and making a face. It was covered in…Everything! 

“Don’t even start with me. You never let me know what you wanted for dinner so I got what I wanted. If you won’t eat it I can’t make you but I am too tired to get you, or make you something else.” 

Sherlock shrugged and grabbed slice and leaned back into the couch and looked at John. John looked back at Sherlock, gave a brief smile and went back to watching TV. 

“Hey John?”

“Yeah”

“Truth or Dare?”

John started to laugh a little. “Are we still playing?” Sherlock nodded. “Alright, truth.” John wasn’t feeling up to too much physical activity at the moment.

“What was the best day of your life?”

“Wow….um.” John had to think for a while on that one. There were several good days that could easily qualify as the best day; his first kiss, graduating med school, so on. But they all paled in comparison to the one day that stood out to John more than any other. “I think I would have to say the day I met you. I knew in the first 10 minutes of meeting you, you were by far the most interesting person I had ever met.”

Sherlock was blatantly staring at John. John was always saying his deductions were brilliant, or amazing, or any other iteration of the sentiment the English language had to offer. But to know the day they entered each other’s life was the best day of John’s. That really was brilliant and amazing. 

“My turn: Truth or dare?”

“Truth” 

“OK, what started the severe sibling rivalry between you and Mycroft?”

“A stupid science fair if you can believe that.”  
“You’re right , that is a little hard to buy.” John mused.

“He and I were entered in the school science fair at the same level because I was a head of my class, naturally, and his project won first place and mine won second. He gloated for weeks and was generally insufferable. From that day on our little competition has raged beyond the ridiculous.”

They sat there for a little while, Sherlock picking at his one slice still and John almost inhaling his third. “You act like you haven’t eaten in days,” Sherlock observed.

“I feel like I haven’t. I had to skip lunch today for a bloody nose on a 10 year old and a hypochondriac of a mother.” John rolled his eyes. “I can promise, the way you feel about humanity in general is the way any good doctor feels about impossible patients.” Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle, the kind that came from deep in his chest when he found something genuinely amusing. 

“Truth or dare?” Sherlock asked. 

“Truth but this is the last one for tonight; I have to sit the sack for another long day tomorrow.” 

“How many sexual partners have you had in your life?”

John blinked. “What?” 

“You heard me John, I simply cannot observe that on my own and I am interested, if only slightly at the complex construct of various human relationships.” Sherlock looked at his flat mate like that explanation should be completely acceptable. 

John sighed, looking at the ceiling and started to mentally tabulate. “Well, counting every one night stand and relationship of any real length…12.”

Sherlock nearly choked, “12!?” 

John nodded.

Well this evenings plan had somewhat gone awry. While Sherlock still buzzed at having been the best day of John’s natural life to this point he had not expected the answer to something he actually wanted to know to be…well….12! Sherlock had yet to lose his virginity and John was for all intents and purposes a master. This really shouldn’t surprise Sherlock at all; John is very well adjusted when it comes to interacting with the general public and his relationships are all important to him. Of course John would have had sex with several of the women that he had come to care about. That is the normal thing apparently. 

“Right.” John stretched with a yawn. “I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.” Sherlock just sat there dazed at the information he had uncovered. None of it had been what he expected and now he was feeling unsure of his expectations. ’12! I am suddenly lacking here.’

“Sherlock” John had popped back in the entry of the sitting room. “Could you please put the leftovers in the fridge when you’re done? Thanks.” John disappeared up the stairs and soon was fast asleep in his bed leaving Sherlock on the couch feeling the most inexperienced in his life.   
******  
John is thankfully at the clinic again and he has been swamped with patients trying to make it up to Sarah and the rest of the staff for taking a week off with such short notice. He has almost caught up and in a couple more days he can go back to his more relaxed schedule. Sherlock has also been driving John mad. Not with his classic boredom or his violin or his experiments, even if he did have to buy another kettle, blender, and force a toaster from Sherlock. No, these things were far more subtle but much worse to handle. He couldn’t just tell Sherlock to stop wearing his sheet because he would want to know why. ‘Because you are almost at a raging hard on when he does.’ There is also the constant casual contact like touching while watching TV, or when being handed something. Having some time during every day where he doesn’t have to worry about Sherlock being there is a balm because it cannot be healthy to have so much of one’s blood supply occupying one part of the anatomy and never getting anywhere else. 

John was finishing his last write up for the day and was looking forward to a day off and maybe a good lie-in. ‘Lie-in; who are you kidding’ Even when he had the opportunity his body or his flat mate NEVER let him sleep as long has he really wanted. He sighed and leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed and scrubbed his face with his palms and relaxed into the cushioning. He had been thinking about Sherlock asking him about his sex life last night and, while John did answer, in hindsight it was fairly odd that Sherlock would even want to know something like that. Any other time Sherlock brushed off sexuality without a second thought. Johns mind quickly made the leap of Sherlock asking about sex to Sherlock and sex in general and John knew where that line of thinking went. Sure enough John was imagining himself under Sherlock again and allowing his imagination to fill in the details of what didn’t happen. John’s chest rose and fell heavily and he tried to control his breathing so as to not hyperventilate and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a too much noise. As of late his fantasies were getting more and more intricate; John had resigned himself to his fate that Sherlock wouldn’t be his. He could feel the tightening in his chest and the warmth pool in his gut. He could easily finish this at home later and he had gotten into the habit of doing just this; starting a fantasy and letting the tension build with-in himself between the beginning and when he could finish. It had made dealing with Sherlock and his, thankful, option of ignoring the subject easier to deal with in some regards. A new tension that could be resolved versus the one that could not. John was nearing the stopping point of his fantasy intro, sighing and whispering Sherlock’s name very lightly while opening his eyes. For a second he thought he was still in one of his fantasies but no. He was in his office, reclining on his chair, one arm on his desk and the other on his lap sporting half mast. And there, right in front of him leaning in incredibly close and looking him right in the face was Sherlock. John jolted and flailed and lost his balance and for the second time he found himself on the floor of his office having tipped his chair. Sherlock just straightened and looked at him. John lay there for a moment and decided three things: 1)Sherlock wore his purple shirt of sex are too often for John’s mental stability, 2) he was exchanging his chair for one without the ability to recline and without wheels, and 3) Nowhere was a safe refuge from Sherlock Holmes. 

It had been approximately 24 hours since Sherlock had asked John about his sexual exploits and the sheer number itself had put Sherlock in a perplexing mood. He had contemplated all day while John was at the clinic whether the information had bothered him or not and he couldn’t definitively decide. He had been finishing a cold case for Lestrade when he had finally cracked it and he had set up the chase for that night. A quick text to the DI and all was ready but he had to let John know. Normally he would just shoot John a text as well but for some reason his feet seemed to move of their own accord and there was a slight twist in his gut when he found himself in front of the clinic where John worked. Sherlock strode into the clinic and found Sarah at the front desk, without a word Sarah smiled and pointed Sherlock in the direction of John’s office and went back to filing patient jackets. Sherlock made his way down the hall and found John’s office with ease, the door was cracked open and he went in without knocking; but instead of finding John busy and alert with paperwork John was facing the side wall reclining in his chair with his eyes closed. Sherlock was immediately enraptured. He had never really seen John so unguarded or relaxed save when he was asleep and he was clearly not asleep. John was breathing deeply like he was trying to control his physical response. Sherlock approached without making a sound and leaned in to watch John’s face. John’s lips were slightly pursed and Sherlock could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared when he breathed in filling his lungs deeply. Sherlock noticed he had become very aroused at the sight of John lost this deep in whatever he was thinking about. After a few more rounds of deep breathing John slowly opened his eyes and Sherlock could see through to the half lidded irises and John’s eyes were a sultry deep brown with wide pupils and then Sherlock heard it. John had whispered his name and it was the most erotic sound Sherlock thought he had ever heard. He actually shivered a little. Then the moment was lost as John realized he was there tipping his chair and throwing himself to the floor. 

“Hello Sherlock” John grunted while getting up off the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“You are done for the day right, or are you sleeping at your desk? Really, that would be very unprofessional of you.”

“No I’m done. I was about 2 minutes from leaving. What do you want?” 

“I need you out tonight.”

“Out?” This sounded like Sherlock was kicking him out of the flat for some reason. “What do you suggest I do and what are you doing to the flat that I can’t be there. You aren’t trying to remix that noxious thing you were working on a couple months ago are you?”

Sherlock gave John a somewhat confused look until he realized the assumption John had drawn to his statement. “No no, I mean I need you out with me tonight. We have another criminal to catch and I believe we will get our man tonight.”

“Oh, right then. I didn’t even know you were finishing a case at the moment. “

“Lestrade has nothing that is truly interesting but I have been working a couple of cold cases and I have wrapped all but one. If all goes to plan it will be done by morning.” Sherlock whirled around and John followed him out of the office leaving his white coat in his chair. 

 

*******

John was leaning up against the brick wall breathing hard while Lestrade was talking to Sherlock and the other officers were putting the suspect into the back of the squad car. He had been racing around London trailing Sherlock in pursuit of a particularly crafty thief. Soon enough they were finished and Sherlock and John were free to head back to Baker Street. John loved this part of living with Sherlock the best; even though it cut into his sleep and his potential dating (that didn’t even bother him much really). He liked the rush of adrenalin and the ease of the endorphins when the chase was over and it was dangerous and cathartic at the same time. It was what he was missing before Sherlock and he would do anything to keep it this way. The chase had put him in a good mood. He had been cramped up at the clinic for days on end had he had welcomed the pounding of feet and the hard pumping of blood in his ears, and the smell. John could always smell Sherlock on the chase and he knew that Sherlock relished the chase for much the same reasons John did and with the added effect of being able to prove himself right. Sherlock’s words rang in his ear, “Genius does need an audience.” Indeed it does, John just wished Sherlock saw that in him. Before John knew it they were in a taxi headed back to 221B. 

“Hey Sherlock?” John quirked at the detective.

“Hmm?” 

“Truth or Dare?” John had decided he liked playing short bouts of the child hood game and he was in a particularly playful mood. 

Sherlock blinked in his direction before giving a wide close lipped smile. “Dare” John had settled into his seat in the cab next to Sherlock and tried to think of a good one. Sherlock is still watching John when for the second time in 24 hours his body moves of its own accord and just as John has turned to give Sherlock his dare Sherlock had invaded his personal space and plants his lips firmly over John’s mouth and presses him against the other side of the cab. Sherlock is forceful but not harsh and he can feel the shock in John’s lips but not for long. John soon relaxes and starts to return the kiss, it’s warm and soft and John lets his eyes flutter close at the sensation he has only really been dreaming about for months. It is a kiss that is given with the full force of consciousness and thought; not under the influence of mind numbing alcohol or on impulse. It just was. 

Suddenly John’s brain caught up with him and his eyes flew open and he forcefully shoved Sherlock off of him. Sherlock looked surprised and slid across the seat staring at John. John’s eyes were wide and his lips were ruddy and wet; he was running his hands through his short blond hair. “Shit Sherlock! What was that for?” John’s face was wide and open and truly looked like he couldn’t understand why a man who was asexual and married to his work would do something so…well…un-rational. Before Sherlock could utter a sound John’s face moved from confused to angry and he started to breath heavily and clinched his fists like he did when he was trying to keep a level head. He did this a lot at Sherlock. 

“What was that for?!” John demanded. 

“I…” Sherlock had no answer for him. He had just done it. It seemed like a good opportunity to push. John seethed and Sherlock knew he had pushed too far too fast. 

“What is the matter with you!?”

Sherlock sat up and schooled his face into his impenetrable armor of uncaring. He slid as far away from John as he could get and he could hear Mycroft in his ear. ‘Come now brother mine. Feelings are weak.’ They had made him weak and Sherlock hated that he had not controlled this earlier. He could have prevented this but now John’s rejection stung and made his chest feel hollow. He did not look at John again. John was having none of the usual I’m-not-going-to-answer from Sherlock.

“Why did you do that? Are you trying to torture me? If this is some sort of experiment then do it on someone else!” John waited to see if Sherlock was going to answer and was about to resign that he was not going to when Sherlock sharply turned his head to John. 

“I apologize; I was apparently incorrect in my observations and subsequent deductions.” Sherlock looked out the window and closed his eyes biting back the tear that had started to escape. 

“Whatever” John huffed and crossed his arms looking out the opposite window, his good mood dashed and neither man looked at the other until the cab slid up to Baker Street. Sherlock was out on the street first but waited for John to pass him and unlock the door. Neither man spoke as Sherlock went to the sitting room and John headed up the two flights to his room. Sherlock didn’t hear the door slam shut meaning that John couldn’t be too mad but he also didn’t hear John start to come back down. Instead he heard the shower kick on and Sherlock sighed and sat in his chair, folding himself up into it and pressed his knees to his chest and tucking his chin in. Had he been wrong about John? There was no way! He was a genius and even if he didn’t understand feelings and relationships all that well he had not misread the physical indications and hearing John say his name a few times while clearly thinking of him in a more then platonic way. He unfolded himself from the chair and stripped himself of coat and scarf, tossing his suit jacket onto his chair and trod up the stairs to John’s room. His bedroom door was open and the water was just being shut off as Sherlock leaned in the door frame, waiting. John exited the bath and didn’t notice Sherlock at first, distracted by the sudden turn of events in the 15 minutes that was the cab ride home. 

“John” Sherlock remained in the door and John spun around startled and then his face became angry again. 

“What do you want Sherlock?”

“It’s my turn” John gave a confused look “Truth or Dare?”

“For FUCK sake Sherlock are you really going to do this now? What is it you really want, I’m tired of being messed with.”

“John this is important: Truth or Dare?” Sherlock’s face didn’t betray anything. John stood in the middle of the room and folded his arms, clearly putting him on the defensive. 

“Truth”

“How do you really feel about me?” The words were out before Sherlock could talk himself out of asking. He already knew that answer to the question and this is not the optimal circumstances he had wanted to ask but things had somehow gone askance and he had to prove himself right like he did with everything else. John blinked and let his arms fall to his sides. It was not what he had been expecting, and really does he expect anything with Sherlock? John heaved a sigh and sat on the edge of his bed closest to Sherlock and buried his face in his hands leaning on his knees. John let his mind race around for a moment deciding the best way to phrase it and he could come up with nothing that would be suitable; something that would blend the truth but not be totally ridiculous, something that would not get him laughed at. 

“What do you want me to say to that?”John asked not looking up.

“The truth” Sherlock injected the statement with derision and hope. “ I thought that was the whole point.”

John could see no way of getting out of it so he just said it. Not very loudly, mind you, but he said it. 

“I love you”

“What?” Sherlock didn’t move but instead looked intently at the back of John’s head. They both knew Sherlock heard John perfectly well but Sherlock wanted to truly hear it. 

“I love you Sherlock! God help me I have no idea how this happened or why I do but there it is…the truth.” John had dropped his hands but didn’t look up instead inspecting the grain of the wood floor beneath his bare feet. Sherlock’s feet came into view and John continued to stare at the floor intently waiting for the derisive and painful rejection of his flat mate, on the lack of merit there was in feelings, jabs for sentimentality and the general evaluation that he was just as idiotic as everyone else Sherlock had the displeasure of dealing with. Instead John felt his chin being tilted up with two slender fingers and he started shake. John wanted so badly for the gesture to be one of friendship instead of the accusation he was expecting; John averted his eyes.

“John, look at me.” Sherlock was not demanding or cruel; John couldn’t help himself. Sherlock looked down into the doctors pleading face. ‘Don’t hate me, don’t send me away, don’t hurt me for this’ Sherlock wouldn’t dream of doing any of these things to John but it hurt him a little to know John was still afraid of him in this way. “I want you to listen very carefully to me.” John nodded as best he could with Sherlock still holding his chin up to keep him from looking away. “I am completely of sound mind and I have had nothing to drink.” John’s brow furrowed and he didn’t understand what that had to do with what he had just said. 

“Of course you haven’t had anything to drink, and you’re bat shit crazy but you’re not insane.” Sherlock just smiled and leaned in to John still holding his chin to keep him from turning away. Sherlock couldn’t find the right words ever to express to John how he felt about the man who had come into his life on a whim and a short introduction and had just accepted him. He took all of Sherlock, brilliance and arrogance and loved him and Sherlock felt as if he could burst. Sherlock kissed John again, but softer than in the cab and John didn’t even know that was possible. John stiffened and tried to comprehend all that was happening. He could still smell the faint sweat coming off Sherlock’s skin from running through London and he started to feel Sherlock pull away and he panicked. ‘GRAB HIM!!!’ John’s hands flew up and tangled themselves into Sherlock’s hair and pulled the detective back into his lips and leaned into the warmth he found there. He finally grappled the meaning out of what Sherlock had said; he knew what he was doing and he wanted to be here and he wanted John. Sherlock leaned into John and he removed his fingers from John’s chin knowing that he wouldn’t try to get away and slid his arm around John’s back lifting him off the bed to press the ex-Army doctor to his chest. He kiss became less gentle as each man began to explore the other with lips and tongue and teeth. Sherlock wrapped his other arm around John and held onto him tightly as if he were trying to meld John into his very skin. He didn’t want to ever be without this feeling again; John had begin to move his hands down the nape of Sherlock’s neck and started to rub small circles into the soft skin he found there while still exploring every crevice of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock broke the kiss but didn’t let John go and both of them were breathing heavily for want of oxygen. John smiled broadly and decided to play along with Sherlock’s front.

“Sherlock” The name came breathy across the detective’s cheek and he shivered at the sensation. It was the same as when John said it in his office not a day ago. “Truth or Dare?” Sherlock laughed deep in his chest and John relished the rumble that translated to his own bare sternum. John moved his hand across Sherlock’s chest and down his sides keeping him close. 

“Truth”

“What brought that on?” John wasn’t angry but still wanted to know what had pushed the younger man to take such a leap of faith. Sherlock regarded John with a look he had never seen before and ran his hand through John’s still damp hair spiking it a little. 

“I…” Sherlock stopped. “I have been a little jealous.”

John cocked his head to one side. “Jealous? Of what?”

“The night after the bar with Greg. I know you told me what happened but I couldn’t remember any of it and I hated that. I hated that you could remember and I couldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.” John’s face started to close off and he began to back away. Had he misunderstood again? He had just told Sherlock he loved him and all he wanted was to fill in the one blank spot in his memory. Probably to just observe it and then delete it. Sherlock didn’t release John and kept him steadily against his chest with one arm and ghosted over the spot Sherlock had bitten with the other hand. The mark was almost gone but you could still see the faint yellow of the fading bruise. “You didn’t misunderstand John.” Sherlock is piercing him with his blue eyes stilling him in Sherlock’s arms. “I wanted to remember. I wanted to remember the feel of your skin against my lips, your fingers in my hair, the sound of your desperation and desire when I gave you this,” Sherlock still rounding the bite mark with one slender finger; John’s eyes fluttered at the touch. “I wanted to remember how it felt to have you struggle beneath me, to want so bad that all your desire overrode every other sense you have.” John moaned a little at the memory of that night and could feel his prick stiffen. “It’s been even before then. When we were after that serial killer and he cut your neck,” now Sherlock moved his free hand to slide across John’s throat and John tilted his head back to let Sherlock touch him. “I remember feeling angry that he had marked you, I wanted it to be me and only me that could lay claim to you; to mark you as mine.” Sherlock leaned in and pressed his lips to the small scar on John’s neck from the knife wound. John arched into Sherlock’s touch, “Oh God Sherlock” falling from his lips before he could stop them. Really why would he want to at this point. Sherlock tongued the soft spot on the side on John’s neck and began to step forward toward the bed. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and let Sherlock lift him off the floor and slide over him on the mattress feeling the weight of Sherlock’s knees next to his hips; John arched his back into Sherlock and reached down to pull Sherlock’s knees up and to run his hands over the slick fabric that were his trousers. Sherlock moved back to kissing John, becoming more desperate to feel everything, letting John’s hands roam over his torso and finger the buttons of his shirt. John decided that if Sherlock wanted to remember he would let him moving his hands down Sherlock’s arms he pulled away from Sherlock’s mouth. “Pin me down,” John whispered in his ear and Sherlock looked a little startled. “You want to do it again right, pretty much the same as last time?” Sherlock nodded. “Then pin me down.” John moved his arms away and lay them above his head, palms up and gave Sherlock a small wicked grin. Sherlock placed one hand over each of John’s wrists and he became even more aroused then he already was. He leaned down and began to explore the length of John’s throat and collar bones. John thought he had slipped into bliss and moaned again, “Oh Sherlock, more” This just egged Sherlock on and John was rewarded with more aggression in Sherlock’s ministrations. John hitched down to press his hips into Sherlock better and he did want to run his hands over Sherlock’s chest, he was still wearing far too many clothes while John was only wrapped in his towel. John started to keen into Sherlock’s neck and began to try and pull his hands out from under Sherlock, who tightened his grip but kept working over John’s chest, licking and kissing and nipping. It really was becoming more then John could stand and he truly started to struggle to have his warm palms slide over the cool of Sherlock’s skin. John whined his need and twisted his writs but this time Sherlock gripped with a new level of force that made John wince a little and he was about to complain but Sherlock moved over the spot on his collar bone and bit again, not hard but enough to completely refresh the bruise. John bucked and yelped trying to wrap one leg around Sherlock’s waist but his towel making that difficult. Sherlock grinned and circled the new mark with his tongue relishing the feel of the raised and angry skin before trailing a new set of kisses over John’s chest and vexing the hard nubs of his nipples. John was squirming to be loosed and finally Sherlock relented deciding he would have to use a better restraining tool next time so he could use both hands. Sherlock sat back on John’s lap and looked over the debauched man beneath him; John breathing heavy before growling and mentioning something about too many clothes. Sherlock began to pull his shirt open slowly and John decided that it was too slow for his liking and batted Sherlock’s hands away grabbing the shirt and fairly ripping it open. Thankfully all but a couple buttons managed to survive the assault as John flung the offending cloth on the floor and dragged Sherlock back down to him to kiss him harshly, making it more needy and a flurry of tongue and lips and moans. John ran his hands over Sherlock’s back and his skin was cool as John had imagined it was, feeling the slight ripples of muscle as Sherlock worked over him. John began to toe Sherlock’s shoes and socks off which took a fair amount of concentration because he was trying to do a million things at once. John now had his hands wound into Sherlock’s curls and was attacking his neck , running his tongue in long sweeps along the jugular, feeling the steady quick pulse and kissing the soft spot behind Sherlock’s ear when he reached the top knocking the breath out of the man hovering over him. “John…hhmmmm” Sherlock breathed heavily into the crook of John’s neck and John sucked harder and longer at the pale smooth skin. “John…I can’t…I can’t breathe.” John pulled away and looked at Sherlock confused, he was very near hyperventilation. John relaxed and slowly moved Sherlock onto his side next to him and gently stroked the side of Sherlock’s face. “It’s ok Sherlock, just breath.” John had remembered having this happen to him once early in his sexual career; he had been overrun with sensation and his brain went on overload and he almost blacked out. It occurred to John then that Sherlock was probably a virgin and fairly new to this much contact. “It’s ok, Sherlock we can slow down, and we don’t have to do anything you aren’t prepared for.” Sherlock lay there next to John and breathed deeply trying to calm his shaking. He had wanted to continue to touch and feel but he couldn’t keep up. Sherlock scrunched his face an looked very upset. “John I..”

“No no. None of that. It’s really ok. I’m not upset. We are both a little tired that that was probably a bit much even for you.”

Sherlock felt he had sorely disappointed and he was angry with himself. John just curled around him and continued to stroke his hair and run light fingers down Sherlock’s back. Soon Sherlock had calmed and let out a stifled yawn. John knew he hadn’t really been sleeping again. John rose and moved over the dresser and pulled on a pair of clean boxers and hung his towel up to finish drying. Sherlock watched him and John smiled at him moving to close the bedroom door. John moved back to the bed and held out a hand to Sherlock and the younger man took it and let himself be pulled to sitting up. 

“What do you say to sleeping here with me tonight?” John asked, more to allow Sherlock to make his own decision even though he was hoping he would say yes. Sherlock nodded and moved to stand and exit the bed room to retrieve his sleep wear; John placed a gentle hand on Sherlock’s chest effectively keeping him on the bed and leaned in to kiss him gently. “Sod pajamas” John whispered and stroked his thumb over Sherlock’s skin. John let Sherlock stand and strip of his trousers and let them fall to the floor in a heap, John pulled the covers back and turned to look Sherlock over from head to toe in just his boxers and John had to try very hard to not pounce on him. He held an arm open and Sherlock moved into the open embrace and John rested his head in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and kissed his shoulder lightly before moving Sherlock into the bed and tossing the covers back over him. John quickly turned the bath room light off and moved across the room to slide into his own side of the bed and rolled over to face Sherlock. John wanted to keep a little distance between them, he didn’t want to make Sherlock feel uncomfortable. Sherlock reached out to John and slid closer wrapping one arm around John’s mid section and one leg over John’s hips. John nestled into Sherlock’s long limbs and wound an arm over Sherlock’s ribs. “Will you be here in the morning?” Sherlock’s voice was tenuous and a little shaky. John smiled a little. “Only if you promise to not throw me out again?” John had meant this to be funny but Sherlock’s breath hitched in a not good way. “I’m so sorry for that John,” He sounded like he was trying to keep from crying and John pulled him closer. “Sherlock stop, it’s alright. That’s over and done.” John gently stroked Sherlock’s back and shushed him to sleep and soon the body next to him was slack and still, the only sound the shallow and easy breathing of sleep and John kissed Sherlock’s cheek before letting sleep take him as well.

 

*****

Morning broke and sunlight shone through the slits in John’s curtains and across the floor. John blinked and stretched feeling the heavy weight of an arm over his chest; he smiled and lay his hand over the splayed fingers he found there and nestled back into the arms that held him. After a few minutes of being awake and not feeling sleepy any more John decided to go make some tea and bring it back up for the two of them. He wriggled out of the covers and slowly moved around the bed where Sherlock still slept without stirring. John quietly opened the door and padded down to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. John leaned against the counter and fingered over the new bite mark that had been left. Before he had tried hard to hide it but this time he may just leave his shirt off all day to bother Sherlock with it. John knew the next little while would be kind of difficult for him, he would want to do more with Sherlock and he would have to keep a tight rein to not overdo it and then there was trying to define exactly what they were now. John hadn’t thought of Sherlock as just a friend for a while now and it seemed Sherlock had felt the same about him but John had been sticking to his I’m-not-gay motto for, well forever and Sherlock was more of an automaton when it came to any kind of label. John was wrested from his thoughts with the whistle of the kettle and he poured the hot water over the tea bag and sugar in one cup and the tea bag in the other. A few minutes of absent minded stirring and John removed the bags and tossing them in the bin across the kitchen with the expertise of having done this several times. John grabbed the milk and poured some in to the cup with no sugar over the spoon and gave quick stir before grabbing both cups and heading back up the stairs. John came into the room and found Sherlock basically where he left him, rolled over onto his back but otherwise still asleep. John set Sherlock’s tea on the night stand close to him and took his tea around the bed to his own end table, took a long sip, watching Sherlock and setting his cup down slip back into bed and faced the detective. John lay there on his side, propped up on his elbow and ran a finger over the back of Sherlock’s hand and over his exposed chest. Sherlock hummed a little but didn’t wake and John wasn’t surprised that he didn’t; when Sherlock hadn’t slept in several days he tended to crash for almost a day to recover. John’s phone began to ring and he sat up reluctantly to check the screen seeing it was the DI he answered.

“Morning Greg, what’s up?” 

“Hey John, I’m sorry to call kind of early, especially after all that excitement last night. I can’t get a hold of Sherlock. Do you know where he is?”

John smirked a little. ‘If only he knew’ “Yeah, one sec.”

John turned to Sherlock pulling the phone away from his ear and started to shake on shoulder gently. “Sherlock wake up.” Sherlock moaned a little, his voice raspy from sleep and tried to bat John away. “Really Sherlock, it’s Lestrade on the phone.” 

“Ok, ok…” Sherlock rubbed his eyes and blinked at the ceiling before sitting up and taking the phone from John.

“What is it Lestrade?” John had taken his cup up again and Sherlock pouted a little while John motioned to his side table and Sherlock nodded while picking up his cup and listening to the DI over the phone. After a couple minutes of nods and hmms Sherlock said they would be there in 30 minutes and hung up. John slid out of bed and moved to the bath to start the shower and came back holding out a towel for Sherlock to use. Sherlock just sat there in the bed and looked at him. 

“Well we only have 30 minutes before we’re expected right? Let’s get a move on!” Sherlock grinned and grabbed the towel and sliding out of the bed and trailed John to the shower. It was really hard for both of them to ignore the things they would rather be dong naked and in a shower but John eventually got Sherlock to stop pawing him and kissing him promised that if Sherlock behaved and solved it quick they could get back to this later today. Sherlock seemed satisfied with this and they were both out of the shower in about 15, Sherlock in towel heading to his room to find clean clothes and John fishing in his closet. After about another 10, each of them relatively presentable; Sherlock in trousers and a button down, of course, and John in jeans and his football jersey, sleeves rolled up they headed for the door John stopping long enough to deposit cups in the kitchen and grab is wallet and keys. 

In the cab on the way over Sherlock noted the opening at the neck of John’s shirt carefully and John tried to take no notice but John could never really hide anything from Sherlock; eventually John caved.

“What” John asked.

“Your shirt.”

“What about it?”

“You do know that I, and everyone else, can see the…” Sherlock indicated a spot on his own collar and John knew he meant the mark. 

“Let them” John shrugged and smiled. Sherlock nodded and smiled as well. This morning with the usual group of tormentors would be interesting. Let see how well they observed something as blatant as a bite mark on the always spotless John Watson. Even when John had his occasional girlfriends, if they had managed to leave a mark on him no one ever saw it; this time John was almost putting it on display. 

The cab pulled up and Lestrade was at the tape waiting on them. “Morning” the DI called and waived them under the tape and started to brief Sherlock over what they had found. The three stopped and Lestrade turned to face John and Sherlock properly and abruptly stopped his sentence looking intently at John. 

“What?” John asked.

“John…”Lestrade reached out and lifted the collar of John’s shirt to more clearly expose his clavicle. And looked intently at the bruise that had formed. “What happened to your neck.”

John tried to hide a smile, “What do you mean?”

Lestrade looked up at John regarding him with an are-you-kidding-me look and when he caught John stifling a laugh he looked over to Sherlock who had an unusual expression. Not his typical you-have-missed-the-obvious nor his you’re-a-moron. It was more of the same caliber as John’s knowing smile. Still holding John’s collar up Lestrade looked down and could see in the tight space between the two their hands were interlaced. The inspectors eyes grew wide and he looked back over Sherlock who slowly nodded and John who had a wider grin then before.

“Oh dear Christ!” Lestrade rolled his eyes and John actually laughed out loud a little. “It is about time but as your friend please spare me the details.” Lestrade allowed Sherlock go about his business and stood there with John until one of them was needed elsewhere. 

“I have to know” Lestrade started

“I thought you didn’t want details”

“I don’t really but how long has this been going on?”

John looked at his watch. “About 9 hours” Lestrade’s eyebrows tried to hide in his hair line and he whistled low and turned to look back at Sherlock. 

“You know what you’re getting into?” 

John smiled broadly, “After living with him for a year and a half I think I have a pretty good idea. Although…” John mused stuffing his hands into his pockets, “more sex mean less violin and possibly more sleep.” 

“Oh, God John!” Both John and Lestrade broke out into outright laughter and everyone else stopped for a second and looked at them. They had to stifle it quickly, they were at a crime scene. 

Calming down a little Lestrade looked at Sherlock and again to John smiling. He was happy that Sherlock had someone who cared deeply about him as Greg knew John did. He couldn’t help but worry a little. “You know if any of the others find out about this you both will be open to more ridicule than ever before?”

“Sod Anderson and Donovan, both of them are just too insecure in themselves to let another man have his brain and happiness too” John knew Lestrade was right but he didn’t care. 

Sherlock came striding over quickly and divulged that apparently the neighbor and the decedent had gotten into an argument over a bet and one had beaten the other; find the neighbor and there was your murderer. Sherlock had started to shove John back to the main road to leave as soon as possible. John struggling a little the whole time and Lestrade letting them go. 

“Wait a second, what is the hurry?” John asked still laughing at Greg a little. 

“The case is solved and you promised.” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John kept herding him to the street for a cab. 

“What? Oh…so I did.” John let himself be harangued to the curb and Sherlock nearly drug John into the cab behind him; holding John’s hand the whole way home and tapping his foot like the cabbie wasn’t driving fast enough. John chuckled at Sherlock and gave his hand a squeeze and within another 5 minutes Sherlock and John were all but racing up the stairs to the flat and tripping over each other the whole way. John caught his foot on the same step again and fell forward and Sherlock caught him by the shoulders and moved him against the wall. Both of them stood for a second staring at each other. John swallowed and looked up to the ceiling remembering to thank whatever Gods existed for this and then he looked back at Sherlock who was simply watching his face, both hands knotted into his jersey. John grabbed Sherlock by the hair and shoved their mouths together. It was more frenzied then last night and more desperate they the last time they had been on the stairs. It was full of grabbing and pulling at each other’s clothes John pushed up against the wall and Sherlock pressing himself into John from shoulder to hip. John sucks at Sherlock’s bottom lip and is rewarded with a low moan while Sherlock moves his hands up under John’s shirt to run his hands over every inch of skin and pressing his hips into John. The pressure in John’s jeans is getting unbearable and he mouths ‘Shower’ onto Sherlock’s neck and just as before Sherlock grabs John’s shirt and drags him upstairs and into John’s room, the later shutting the door behind them and both men scrambling to pull clothes off. Sherlock is again faster at this then John and he is in the bathroom with the shower on before John has his shoes off. 

“Hurry up John” He almost sounds whiny and even if John wanted to drag it out a little his body won’t let him. Soon John is stepping into the shower with Sherlock and is pressed up against the shower wall, the taller man holding his hips and kissing John greedily while John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s ribs to claw down the pale skin and to grab his ass and knead. “You know,” John started between kissing and breathing, “for someone who hasn’t done this before you sure do pick up quick” Sherlock responded by rutting up against John trapping their hard pricks between them and John gave a shout as the weight of their arousal is pushed into his stomach, every sensation is so charged that you can almost smell o-zone. John buries his fingers in Sherlock’s sopping hair and kisses him hard nipping and licking at his bottom lip and Sherlock is open easily for John and there is another torrent of moaning and other incoherent parts of words. “Oh…John,” Sherlock whispers while sucking at John’s neck, “My John.” John grinds up again causing Sherlock to groan deeply and arch into the feeling pressing them together even more. “Always Sherlock….Always.” John is desperate to make him understand and crashes both of their mouths together again and pulls some fancy foot work now being the one to have Sherlock pinned against the wall and is biting Sherlock’s nipples, rolling them with his tongue and raking his teeth over them getting his hair pulled and claw marks down back. Sherlock had always kept his nails a little on the long side and John was sure there would be red track marks on his back and he smiled at the idea. “John please” Sherlock was pleading and while John was pretty sure he knew what for he wanted to hear Sherlock say it. John looked up at Sherlock and lightly kissed the cupid bow of Sherlock’s lips, slowly letting his hips rise and fall pushing them together and causing Sherlock to gasp and throw his head back against the shower wall. John moved to kissing and trailing Sherlock’s exposed neck. “John….” “What is it Sherlock? Tell me what you want, what you need.” John wasn’t harsh in asking, he wanted to hear Sherlock say what he wanted before John just did it. It was partially because of Sherlock’s reaction to overstimulation last night and John didn’t want that again; but it was mostly because he wanted Sherlock to beg a little. Sherlock had said once to someone else that he did not beg and John was determined to make the detective beg for him. Even if it was just once. “Make me yours,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear while biting around his earlobe, “mark me.” Sherlock had moved a hand to thumb the spot he had bitten John and John increased this thrusting nodding; knowing exactly how he would lay claim to this gorgeous creature that he had under his thumb so to speak. John turned and grabbed the conditioner off the wall and squeezed some into the palm of his hand and slid his fingers around both of them smearing the cream over them to ease some of the friction. Sherlock melted, “OH CHRIST JOHN!” and wrapped both arms around John’s shoulders arching his back off the wall and breathing shallowly. John grinned wanly and relished the look on Sherlock’s face as he let himself just feel maybe for the first time in his life. John pulled him in close and kept his hands and hips working the whole time kissing Sherlock fiercely biting his lower lip again, leaving it puffy and swollen and John leaned in close to Sherlock and thrust up with his hips and down with his hand over both of them with every word. “Sherlock Holmes you are mine.” It was almost forceful enough to scare John but Sherlock just shivered and bit his lip hard and John knew Sherlock was close; so was he but he wasn’t going to be totally selfish. “Let go Sherlock, let go” It was almost as if Sherlock had been waiting for permission to let his brain stop working because as soon as John told him to Sherlock curled his fingers in to John’s flesh and yelled, releasing all over their stomachs and John was right behind not forgetting Sherlock’s request. Leaning into his lover John bit down on the ball of Sherlock’s shoulder hard and came with one more thrust. They rode out their orgasms still clinging to each other and John wormed his hand out from in between them to rinse it off and then run it carefully over the bite mark he had left. He kissed it softly tonguing the divots in the pale gleaming skin and then moving to kiss Sherlock’s lips tenderly. 

“You ok?” Sherlock nodded and smiled lazily stroking the side of John’s face and resting their foreheads together. “Good, I hope you like it as much as I do mine.” John was still fingering the bite on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock just kept smiling and after another short moment they rinsed off completely before the water got too cold and they stepped out and began to towel off. John was leaning against the shower door watching Sherlock examine his new accessory and grin; apparently he really did like it.

“Now we match” John commented lightly and came up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his scapular region. 

“Indeed” Sherlock mused and turned to hold John against his chest. John gave a yawn and contemplated going back to bed but Sherlock nudged him up and herded him to the door of the bathroom and tossed him his sleep wear. “You have today off right?”

“Yeah”

“Good, I don’t feel like doing anything but spending the day on the couch watching crap tele!” 

“You actually want to watch shit TV?” John spluttered. 

“Yes” Sherlock went to go retrieve his sleep wear and robe and quickly changed heading back to gather John and force him into the kitchen to make more tea. It was well into the afternoon by now and there wasn’t going to be anything on tele really so Sherlock opted for the violin and John read the novel he had been whittling away at. They didn’t talk much but the afternoon was pleasant just sort of basking in the new arrangement they sort of had. John knew Sherlock would always drive him mad and he hadn’t expected that to change overnight, Hell ever. It was all of these things that made Sherlock the person John wanted to be with. After a few hours of playing or reading Sherlock sat his violin down satisfied with the composition he had constructed. It was rough and would need more fine tuning but it was a good start. John’s birthday was coming up Sherlock already knew what he wanted to give him. One was the composition, the other was something very personal and he smiled at the thought. Sherlock moved over to John and carefully pulled the book out of his hands and marked his page so as not to lose it, set it down on the coffee table and crawled into John’s lap facing him. Sherlock gently cupped Johns face and leaned in to kiss him and John couldn’t help but run his hands up Sherlock legs to squeeze his upper thighs. Sherlock hummed and kissed John deeper but there was none of the rush from earlier; this was slow and comfortable; like they were meant to have been doing this forever. John intertwined his fingers behind Sherlock’s lower back and let himself explore Sherlock slowly and carefully. This was precious to him. Eventually Sherlock just moved to nuzzling and John would never have believed Sherlock could be so affectionate. “Sherlock?” John was afraid to ask but his mind could not let go of his earlier wonderings. 

“Hmmmm”

“Clearly we are not just friends” Sherlock looked at John leveling obviously with his eyes. “Yes obviously,” John roiled his eyes in response. “But what does this make us?” Sherlock scrunched his face like he had tasted something too sweet. “Don’t get me wrong, we don’t need official labels or anything. I was just sort of wondering where we stood really?” Sherlock shrugged and sat his chin on John’s shoulder looking over it into the kitchen and left his arms draped over his shoulders. “It’s ok, we’ll figure it out.” John ran slow hands, palm flat over Sherlock’s back and let the moment just be. He was more ok with not really having an answer then he normally would be.

*******  
Epilogue

John’s birthday had arrived sooner than Sherlock had realized. No, the passage of time had not sped up nor had his observations become dull. It was really that Sherlock’s life had a new level of fulfillment that he didn’t realize he was lacking. His life with John hadn’t really changed that much; they still consulted with Scotland Yard, John still went to the clinic, Sherlock still didn’t eat much and played violin at 3 am to help clear his mind. Sherlock smiled as he thought about the composition he had recently finished. It had taken him longer then he thought it would when he started it six months ago but it was hard sometimes to find just the right combination of speed, variation, and tonal quality overall to describe John, and just what he meant to him, in music. Sherlock was never the best when it came to telling John but he had always understood what the detective was trying to communicate. Sherlock paid the man behind the counter for the last part of John’s gift and made his way out of the shop and to the street. John’s actual birthday was tomorrow and John had decided to take his birthday and the day after off and work two shifts at the clinic today. Normally when John worked a double he came home exhausted and irritable but this actually helped Sherlock to prepare his presents the way he had wanted; this last part in particular needed some extra attention. Sherlock hailed a cab and soon he was home.

Several hours after dark, John came trudging up the stairs to the sitting room in a terrible mood and found the sitting room to be dark. Sherlock must be upstairs and only pausing long enough to hang his coat on the pegs by the door turned to the second set of stairs thinking only of sleep. The bedroom up stairs was dark too and John could see a familiar shape sitting up in the bed on one side, leaning against the headboard with his hands pressed together under his chin. John smiled but didn’t speak and quietly began to strip his clothes off. When he had gotten down to his trunks he turned and saw Sherlock had his hand outstretched towards him and had slouched down into the pillows a little. John took his hand and crawled under the covers but when he went to lay down next to Sherlock, he was redirected between the younger man’s knees, John’s chest over Sherlock’s lower half, head on his chest just below Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock hummed and it was clear that this is exactly where John was wanted. Sherlock stroked the short blond hair at the nape of his loves neck and draped his other arm across John’s back. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and snuggled in using Sherlock as a pillow and soon both of them were fast asleep in each other’s arms. 

********

Sherlock woke early and found that he very nearly vibrated with excitement hoping that John would like his gifts. He didn’t want to move however because John was still fast asleep on top of him and he became content to stroke John’s hair and listen to his breathing. Eventually John began to stir and stretch like a cat in Sherlock’s lap before sitting up on his knees and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes; he blinked at Sherlock, who had also sat up. 

“Good Morning Birthday Boy”

John smiled and huffed a small laugh. “Good Morning” John leaned in and kissed Sherlock briefly and settled back on his knees. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Anything you want really. I didn’t have any strict events planned for today.” Sherlock shrugged. 

John looked to be thinking about all the things he might want to do today and found he couldn’t really think of anything specific, maybe a day at home and they could go do something tomorrow. He would just play it by ear and see where the next two days ended up. 

“Well, the Birthday Boy wants tea” John shuffled off the bed, pulled on a clean t-shirt and dressing gown and began to head for the door but stopped when he noticed Sherlock didn’t follow. He looked at him with a line of concern creasing his forehead. 

“Go on, I’ll be down in just a minute.” John nodded and headed down the stairs and Sherlock waited to hear the tap turn on to check on the second part of John’s gift and all seemed to be in order so he headed down the kitchen pulling his own dressing gown over his shoulders. 

“Is everything alright?” John looked up from preparing the two mugs of tea. 

“Of course John. Why wouldn’t it be?” Sherlock moved around to the couch and flopped onto it waiting for John to finish the tea, and holding out one arm to take it when John came out of the kitchen a moment later. “So, when do you want your presents?” Sherlock looked almost gleeful and he really only looked this way when he had a strange new experiment or a brand new corpse to look over. 

“You got me birthday presents?” 

“Yes”

“Well, I suppose whenever you’re ready to give them. I actually kind of surprised there are presents involved. I didn’t peg you for the type.”

“Well if that is the case,” Sherlock rolled off the couch and set his tea mug on the coffee table and made his way over to his favorite violin playing spot, in front of one of the windows with his back to the room and he shuffled through some sheet music before eyeing part of the second page and then settling the stack of pages on his music stand. He lifted the violin to his chin and began to play, softly and slowly at first but soon the pace picked up and whirled around the slender man whose body swayed and turned with the music. John had heard Sherlock play parts of this piece several times over the past few months and he liked it immensely, it seemed to stir something in him that he could never place but missed when Sherlock stopped playing or moved to something else. He also knew this was one of the pieces that Sherlock had composed himself and it always felt like Sherlock could communicate better through the music then through words. John knew Sherlock wasn’t using the sheet music, he had committed his creation to memory. John rose from the couch and keeping an eye on Sherlock’s face he moved over to the music stand; Sherlock nodded and John looked down at the pages. ‘For John’ the title read and John looked over the music on the pages, having been carefully constructed and placed for maximum effect of depth. John looked back at Sherlock, who smiled and kept playing, and John couldn’t look away. Sherlock’s lithe form was moving around the flat in time to the music and John could almost hear the words Sherlock was always trying to say; the ones the doctor always knew without the need to have them spoken. 

‘I love you and I always have. I never want there to be a moment where you aren’t mine and I’m not yours.’

John’s chest swelled while he stood watching the face of his love be completely at ease with the music, not hiding behind a mask that only John could see through or under. Sherlock had used the music to expose the most hidden part of himself, the part everyone but John thought didn’t exist. Soon, sooner then he would have liked, the music came to an end and Sherlock stood across the room looking at John with his quicksilver eyes and John nearly burst. 

“Sherlock….” John swallowed and moved to stand in front of him. “That was…that was beautiful. Thank you.” Sherlock eased and a genuine smile graced his features. John cupped his jaw with both hands and kissed the perfect cupid bow of his lips. John had intended to take it further but when he slipped his hands down over Sherlock’s shoulders the taller man hissed and winced a little. 

“Sherlock? Are you ok?”

“Um…yes” 

“What is wrong with your shoulder?” John had backed a half step off and was starting to remove Sherlock’s dressing gown. 

“Really, it’s nothing John.” In fact this is exactly how he knew John would react. The ever present need to doctor Sherlock up was not an unnecessary skill. Sherlock would manage to get all sorts of cuts and scrapes and such and John would always patch him up. John would never simply take Sherlock’s word for it that he was fine after a reaction like that. Sherlock may have over exaggerated a little. John was now removing Sherlock’s t-shirt and found a large white patch of gauze over Sherlock’s left shoulder; John’s face grew more worried because he had no idea what lay under it or when Sherlock would have hurt himself. The dressing was clean but not tightly placed so it wasn’t done by trained medical personnel. Sherlock looked at John, betraying no emotion and John gingerly reached up and pulled off the tape holding the gauze in place to reveal an odd oval of shapes. John doesn’t know what it is and looks back at Sherlock who has a small smile on his face. John goes to run a finger gently over the spot on Sherlock’s shoulder, the skin is still a little raised and is slick. 

“Is that a tattoo?”

Sherlock nods.

“Is that a tattoo of a bite mark?”

Sherlock nodded again and his smile got a little bigger. John ghosted the spot on his shoulder again and was about to ask Sherlock what exactly had come over him to get a tattoo of a bite mark when he looked at the spot carefully again. One of the first things Sherlock ever requested of John as a lover instead of a friend or assistant was to mark him, claim him. John had done just that by biting him hard on the shoulder and it had left a dazzling mark that hung around for a week or so. John would often kiss that spot or remark it when Sherlock asked, which was whenever the previous mark had faded. John looked back into Sherlock’s eyes and he didn’t need to ask, he knew. That was a tattoo of his bite mark. 

“From the moment you gave me the first one I knew that I wanted it there forever. I decided that day that I would do this,” indicating the tattoo. 

“But Sherlock…” John started and Sherlock had to grab him by the face to stop him from looking away. 

“No buts John. I’ve found where I want to be and it’s right here with you. Yours. Always.”

John swallowed hard and was almost on the brink of tears when he crashed into Sherlock’s lips. It was hot and needy and John didn’t want anything else. Sherlock was his and had, for all intents and purposes, branded himself as John’s and John’s alone. They broke their kiss and breathed heavily in the small space between them as Sherlock placed his forehead against John’s. 

“Happy Birthday John.”

John kissed Sherlock again. He was 41 years old today and this was the best birthday had had ever had.


End file.
